The Snarl in the Depths
by Sulia Serafine
Summary: It was never meant to happen. One act of selflessness and look what awaited her now. Marriage to Joren of Stone Mountain. A flood started it. But they didn't need water to drown. K/J. Rating has gone up to Mature.
1. Prologue: After the Flood

Disclaimer: Protector of the Small is the property of Tamora Pierce. Please don't sue me. I just got laid off and I have zero money. There may be two short quoted passages down the line but they will be pretty obvious from the book. Thank ya.

Introduction:

So here I am, two years after I got my BA and waiting to hear back from grad schools and freshly laid off (fekkin' economy) and still with the same guy for over two years now and a bunch of promising writing projects started and and and and. AND with all this hurtling down the lane towards adulthood I felt a heavy burden squatting on my shoulders cackling in my ear. I couldn't work on any of my unfinished/underdeveloped stories. I barely I deemed any of them non-mortifying enough to send off as a portfolio to grad schools with masters programs for writing.I am in a bit of a rut.

So here I am. This was purely an exorcism of the demon who refuses to leave me alone. This plot circulated in my head as a sober answer to all my indulgences as a teenager. The only way my past fanfiction worked was due to the alternate universe. So let's create another alternate universe. More based on canon, more inspired by the actual characters that we met in those lovely books. Don't misunderstand: the characters you are about to read are not perfectly in character and are influenced by different events and people. The series on the whole is floating in the same atmosphere in which I watched movies like _Atonement _and _Closer. _So we'll see if the characters I write act differently breathing this alien air.

A warning: this is my first _mature_ rated piece. There will be sex. I don't consider it too graphic. It serves a purpose to the plot (when doesn't sex completely change a plot, fictional or non-fictional?) and there is no other story that I could think of where I would ever write sex scenes again. Like I said, it's a demon squatting on my back, not an angel. I even wrote the first version of this story without sex and it sucked- for lack of a better word. I'll choose to believe that doesn't say anything about me as a writer and that it has everything to do with the story I've chosen to explore.

A quick thank you: to those of you have who continued to read and re-read (that was a pleasant surprise) my early work. I've never found an equal to the support and encouragement I've found here and I'm grateful to the community for being the springboard from which I rose up in writing maturity. As always, an eternal thank you to Jae (_dahling_) to whom my indulgences were never equated with faults. I don't feel like a weirdo posting this.

The premise of this story: what if the flood that caused Cleon and Keladry to withdraw their affections happened to Fief Mindelan instead? Ignoring the likelihood that geography would even allow for Mindelan to flood, let's suppose it floods so badly that Baron Piers and his wife Ilane find it necessary to consider their options through the marriages of their daughters. And what happens when the noble family of Stone Mountain suddenly finds itself in dire need of good will from the Progressives in the kingdom and are willing to pay for it in bags of gold?

The story has already been completed. Expect weekly updates. Sooner, if responses merit it

On with the story.

Prologue: After the Flood

When the flood came to Mindelan, Keladry was not there. She only heard about it afterward. Letters told her the devastation the massive spring storms had brought to the lands: the lost fields, the dead or missing livestock, the impassable roads. It had rained for days, her father said. They had almost forgotten what the sun looked like nestled among the usually thinner, paler clouds. At some point, families had to be rescued from the roofs of their homes if the roofs had been sturdy enough. Relief had been sent, but the damage was so much that Mindelan would need more aid than was given. The flood had ravaged the land and the lives of its people, but it was Keladry all the way in Corus who would be feeling the consequences for the rest of her life.

She sat with her study group, thumbing the corner of a letter from her mother instead of reading the book in her lap. Around her, the group of boys traded furtive glances though none had the heart to summon Keladry from her brooding thoughts. They had already offered their token words of sympathy and support, words that they felt but still fell short. They were, after all, just words. Words were not medicine for the people in the north who had been made ill by disease that stewed in the stagnant waters. Words did not pour life back into the bloated bodies of men, women, and children who had drowned trying to rescue their livestock from rising river waters. The flood was worth more grief than Keladry was showing, but throwing a tantrum to convince someone to let her go home, to help, would be useless. She had been commanded to stay, dry and well and sickeningly safe far away from home.

A nudge to the ribs disrupted her thoughts. She glanced to the side to see Neal's sympathetic smile. She returned the smile and went back to her reading. With all eyes watching her, she did not dare let her gaze stray from the book. Still, she could only read the same paragraph over and over. The words kept slipping away from her, like a swift moving stream, until she gave up. She murmured an apology and an excuse to her friends, then left.

Later that month on her way to the library, she ran into Joren of Stone Mountain and Vinson of Genlith. After last year, she knew she should stay on her toes around either boy. She continued to wonder if she would be standing there as a page if Neal had not succeeded in becoming her sponsor instead of Joren. When Keladry thought of herself, she knew she was determined enough not to let someone like him discourage her, yet there were so many ways that he could have sabotaged her. He could have planted spirits in her room or other contraband. After finding her room in last year in such a demolished state, she did not doubt that it was possible.

When the two boys saw her, they exchanged mischievous looks and continued to walk down the opposite of the hall as if nothing was amiss. In fact, rosy cheeked Joren actually nodded to her. Keladry instinctively tensed as they came closer. They were sadly mistaken if they thought she was going to let her guard down.

When they were two arms lengths away, she stared at them openly, daring them to make a move. Instead, they passed each other by. The boys looked over their shoulders as she did the same. Keladry didn't trust them enough to turn her back on them. It wouldn't be the first time they had tried to jump her.

"Ah!" she cried as a sopping wet napkin made contact with the back of her head.

She turned around and brought her hand up. She actually caught the second napkin, droplets of something that smelled almost like pickle juice flying off. Her arm winged out and flung it back at the boys' third companion, Zahir ibn Alhaz. It caught him full in his grinning face.

While the cloth still covered his eyes, Keladry ran past. She turned her head to look for more accomplices and stayed on her guard the rest of the way to the library. Her nose wrinkled. Her hair smelled like something rancid but she would only waste more time if she went back to her room to wash it out.

They surprised her with their restraint. She expected far worse than what they had done. They had used rancid juice, not urine. It had been some time since her last big encounter with any of them. That winter, Joren's father Lord Burchard had died of illness. Something else had happened then, as well. She did not pay too much attention to the gossip, but she knew that Joren's family had fallen into some degree of disgrace, almost causing him to leave training. The only thing that was probably keeping him from causing her more trouble was the possibility of making anyone angry with his antics. If his family's honor was truly in danger, his behavior was probably under surveillance every moment of the day. Someone else had to assault her with the soaked napkins.

The librarian looked up from his desk and wrinkled his nose when she entered. Keladry moved behind a bookcase to avoid the stare. Even with less attention from him, it was still more attention than she wanted.

Life carried on: training, studying, brooding. Eventually, Keladry thought of her family's plight and was able to tell herself that when it was next possible she would return home to help as much as she could. No one could expect anything more of her, especially after her parents' demands that she stay where she was and let them worry about what they would do.

Then her mother appeared at the door of her room one night just before supper.

"Lalasa, you are not required to knock. You have a key—" Keladry took her hand off the door handle and gaped at her visitor.

"Hello, dear," Lady Ilane said. The tall regal woman gazed warmly at her daughter.

Keladry had luckily just finished washing up. No pickle juice that day, but smelling of horses and sweat was probably not the best aroma in the world. She went to her mother and hugged her while she tried to keep the anxiety out of her voice. "I wasn't expecting you. Is everything alright? How are you?"

"We are well. Your father and I are here for some negotiations while Anders runs the fief. We were hoping to take you out to dine tonight. I have already let your training master know. He wanted to remind you that though he will dismiss your absence at supper, he still expects you to complete your classwork." The crinkle at her eyes told Keladry that her mother had found Wyldon's remark amusing, despite his gruff demeanor.

"And how are negotiations going?"

Ilane cupped her daughter's cheek. The woman's cool hands on her skin had an instantly calming effect. Keladry tried to focus on remaining as mature as she thought she was instead of slipping into childlike security.

"After the winter, many people's supplies are depleted," Ilane explained. "The king has supplied some relief, but he cannot supply more or every lord under him will be badgering the king for more. His majesty was very troubled he could not help more. We understand."

The lines on her mother's face looked deeper. The shadows around her eyes were more pronounced. She could only imagine what her father looked like. They had been counting on the continued aid of the king's men rebuilding the lost houses and on the arrival of royal surplus. But it was the Baron's duty to take care of his people. It was to her family that the responsibility would ultimately fall.

"You'll be able to get supplies easily enough from other sources, won't you?"

Her mother smiled, but it was a thin tired smile. "Of course."

"Something's not right. You're not telling me something important."

"Darling, it is not your place to worry about these things."

Keladry forced herself to keep a straight face showing no anxiety when she responded, "You'll be in debt. While Anders is at home managing the fief, you're here to trade away promises that will be hard to keep to aid the villagers surrounding Mindelan."

Ilane shook her head. "I'm so proud to have such an intelligent daughter."

"Mama, what are you really doing here?"

Her mother stepped away and gazed out of the window. She spoke as if from a distant place. "Your sisters are old enough to marry soon. They have met well at court."

Terror seized Keladry, making her stiffen up like wood. She thought of Adalia and Oranie. They would be in their rooms, packing up their things and preparing themselves to be married off for as large bride prices as her parents could manage. All of this, in order to fund relief to their home and the people in the surrounding areas. It would be selfish if they refused, which her sisters could not do anyway.

"No, I thought matches had already been arranged. Oranie had just began to become acquainted with Derick. They _like _each other," she emphasized. "So many girls are only so lucky."

"The matches can be better," her mother insisted, turning her face away further perhaps to hide the beginning signs of despair. "Your father and I were too careless in our arrangements for them before."

They remained silent for a few moments before Keladry spoke again.

"Who will they marry?"

Ilane turned and dipped her head to the side. "Oranie? Or Adalia? Adalia is a bit too old to match to the boy we have in mind right now. I've had the fortune of meeting Lady Einsrell of Stone Mountain. You may have met her son, Joren, in training with you. A few years older, I believe."

The beautiful bully. Keladry could not believe it. Poor Oranie. She lowered her eyes. "We are acquainted."

"You may have also heard that his father passed this winter."

"I have," Keladry responded. She should have been able to make the connection, but she waited for her mother to continue.

"When the lord died, his steward made the foolish move of trying to carry on certain secret plans in his lord's place. It was revealed, I am assuming, through the king's spy network that the late lord of Stone Mountain had contingency plans for a conservative uprising against King Jonathan if laws continued to be reformed too progressively for their taste. Their family immediately fell out of grace under posthumous accusations of treason and conspiracy. Lady Einsrell is a shrewd woman. She would like to curry favor with families whom the king smiles upon."

"Us?"

"That we spent so much time in the Yamani Islands when the prince's betrothed is a Yamani princess does not hurt our standing, especially since we are familiar with the the princess' royal family," her mother explained. "I also think King Jonathan is aware how much of our own personal coffers we gave up to help the people surrounding us this spring."

So that was it then. The money of one of the oldest and richest families in Tortall for the genteel association of one of the King's most favored. Keladry could not bear the thought of her sweet, kind sister being opressed by Joren. She touched her mother's arm and, without so much as a second thought, blurted out, "Let me."

He mother turned back to her. "Let you what?"

"Let me take Oranie's place," Keladry elaborated. Perhaps there was bad blood in her family and she had finally revealed it. What she was doing now was clearly insane.

"My dear, that does not make any sense. You're training to be a knight."

"I have nothing to lose by the match," Keladry protested. "Oranie and Adalia have matches of their own and you risk the dishonor of those men's families to break off negotiations with them now. Joren trains to become a knight. He'll be gone to battle much more in his youth than he'll be home to spend with his bride. I would be doing the same. We'd be much more sympathetic to each other's work that way." Here she wondered if that counted as a lie. It was a speculation, as unlikely as it was. "...and I would be able to travel to see him." Not voluntarily, though.

Her mother gazed thoughtfully at her daughter. "You're not trained to be a wife."

"If I can learn to be a knight, I can learn to manage a household, too. The Lioness has many children and a well-run barony, does she not?"

"Your sister is prepared to do what she must and bears no ill will towards your father and myself for asking her to do so," her mother pointed out.

"She needlessly prepares for sacrifice. It won't have to be a sacrifice for me. I might not have married at all, so you are not replacing one future son-in-law with another as with Oranie, but gaining another through me. We need as much support as we can get."

An understated mirth twinkled in Ilane's eyes. "Hold your tongue, dear, you're sounding a bit too much like the parent. I feel usurped."

"I only await your approval."

Her mother took her hand and tugged her into another hug. Ilane stroked her daughter's short hair and sighed. "You are too brave. If it is your wish, I'll visit Lady Einsrell and speak with her about it. Something tells me she is a more desperate woman than she wants to let on."

The girl stared at the wall over her mother's shoulder. Stone. A mountain. A mountain of regret, perhaps, in the morning when she woke up and realized that what she had just agreed to was not just a dream.

Keladry turned away from her mother and cleared her throat. "I'll need to change into different clothes before we go."

"Take your time, dear. I think I'll go by the queen's gardens before we leave," Lady Ilane added, aware of her daughter's mental state. "I hear the blooms are lovely this spring."

When the door to her room was closed once more, Keladry leaned against the wall and stared at the ground. Even birds with no webbed feet had more sense than her when they chose to stay in the air than to see if they could swim.


	2. Part I Disengagement

Disclaimer: Protector of the Small is the property of Tamora Pierce. Please don't sue me. I just got laid off and I have zero money. There may be two short quoted passages down the line but they will be pretty obvious from the book. Thank ya.

Author: Thanks for the warm reception, you guys. You are too sweet. -Sulia

Part I. Disengagement

The next day, Joren bumped into her forcefully, sending her tripping towards the wall before she corrected herself. The hallway was deserted. It was time for the mid-day meal and both were late. The senior page wore his usual scowl and Keladry wondered if anyone would believe her if she said he attacked her first, considering their history. Not that she would report any fights between them anyway.

"Just because we will be related by marriage does not mean I have to be civil to you," he hissed.

Keladry could only stare at him blankly for a few moments. Their parents would be meeting today to change the arrangements of the betrothal, so he had no idea that he was threatening his future wife. After another moment, Keladry went back into motion and continued walking. His snicker followed her. She repressed the urge to make a disgusted face. _As calm as a lake at dawn_, she thought to herself. The future might be filled to the brim with meditation exercises at this rate.

At the table, her friends talked animatedly around her about something Neal had said during their history class. Her tall friend noticed her distracted expression and reached forward to tap her tray.

"Hey, did you hear that? I think even Bones was impressed with my joke!"

"Hmm? Oh, no. I didn't." She stared down at her plate and said absently, "Don't forget your vegetables. You haven't touched them."

Neal frowned. "You didn't even look at my plate. How did you... Hey, is something bothering you? I thought your father wrote that they were handling everything just fine."

"He did," Keladry replied. She could sense by the sudden quiet at the table and knew everyone was watching her. "I'm alright. I'll tell you about it later, so don't mind me."

The chatter resumed in quieter tones. Keladry spared a glance across the room at another table where Joren and his cronies were sitting. Their pale-blond leader spotted her as well. He calmly put a forkful of food in his mouth and continued to stare her down. She looked away.

She made it through the afternoon with considerable ease. The physical aspect of her training did a better job distracting her from her own thoughts, whereas before it was quite easy to let her thoughts wander off sitting in class. Her friends stopped watching her. The girl page was acting more like herself out there in her element.

At the end of the day, she noticed that Lord Wyldon had taken Joren aside. She couldn't hear their conversation, but she assumed it had to do with her family. After the boy left, Wyldon approached her. Keladry thought it pointless to act like she did not know he was coming to speak to her and no one else. She turned to Neal and made a motion with her head to tell him to go on without her . Her friend's already sharp featured face appeared more pinched in his responding expression.

"Go on. I'll see you at supper," she whispered loudly. Neal reluctantly retreated while giving her a look that demanded an explanation later.

Lord Wyldon stood in front of her when she turned again. The puffiness of his scar distracted her momentarily. His grim expression worried her more.

"I have been informed of the arrangements made by your parents. You are to wash up and immediately report to my office before supper."

"Sir?"

"I want to lay down a few ground rules." He looked past her into empty space. "Nothing like this has ever had to cross my path. As if last year wasn't enough. We will deal with it as we will."

Ground rules? Hopefully, he did not think that Joren and she were going to sneak out at night to kiss in the stables. He should know that after the scrapes they had been in, even if they never owned up to it. She bowed to him. "Yes, sir. I'd better go quickly then."

He nodded and strode away with his hands clasped behind his back. Keladry paused for a few more moments watching him appear as troubled as she was, before sprinting back to the dormitory.

---------

Wyldon's office was never a place she liked to visit after her probationary year. Lady Einsrell and her mother sat while Joren and Baron Piers stood behind them respectively. Keladry also opted to stand. She was not there to become a demure lady wife. They had better remember it.

Lady Einsrell had dark blond hair and was obviously the cause for Joren's handsome facial structure. Like Keladry's own mother, Einsrell carried herself with a regal air. She was a short but pointy woman with pale skin. A large sapphire ring on her finger looked as if it might tip the woman over at any moment. Despite all that, the Einsrell's demeanor was calm. An explosion would not ruffle the woman.

In contrast, Joren's red face looked like it made burst into flames at any moment. They must have informed him only just before she arrived. He refused to look at her. This suited Keladry just fine.

"I have felt it my responsibility to make your families aware," Wyldon started, "that neither of you have gotten along with the other in the past. And I have agreed to do what I can to facilitate if only because I know if I will be listening to more reports of pages falling down stairs than I care to deal with."

The questioning eyes of her parents made Keladry want to hide under Wyldon's desk. They of course had expected it would be hard for her after several sons who had already gone through the same, but she never let on about the extent of hardship she endured. And she certainly didn't clarify to her mother that Joren was her enemy when she asked to change the betrothal arrangement.

Wyldon continued, "With that said..."

They spoke on a few more subjects of how Joren and Keladry were to conduct themselves as being promised to each other and as candidates for knighthood. After a cordial handshake between the future bride and groom with their parents and training master watching, the parents said goodbye to their children. Aid would arrive from Stone Mountain very quickly. The relief that Piers and Ilane exhibited was subtle, but Keladry could tell that they were very glad to have their land on the path to recovery. Keladry also overheard Wyldon thank Einsrell for the bloodhound pups that she had given him and that they would be his pride and joy when they were grown. She raised an eyebrow at that. Her mother was right. Lady Einsrell was a very shrewd woman who knew how to get her way.

The newly betrothed couple was forced to walk ahead of their training master to supper. As they entered the dining hall side by side, the reaction was immediate. Her friends, already seated, performed the greatest impression of a school of fish she had ever seen. With a glance at Joren, whose red face was now working hard on becoming a not so ripe tomato, she started to head towards them.

"Ahem!" Lord Wyldon coughed.

Both pages suddenly veered off their original courses toward their friends' tables and headed toward the unoccupied table put off to the side. They sat down stiffly and did not look at each other. Meanwhile, Wyldon headed toward the dais to give the blessing. The meal began.

Joren scraped his silverware hard against the plates. His teeth were clenched.

"Don't worry. I'm just as pleased as you are," she muttered.

He looked up at her sharply. "Don't _speak_ to me."

She rolled her eyes. She caught a glimpse of Merric trying to get her attention. He mouthed the words, _Are you being punished?_ She mouthed back, _Later_.

"What are you doing? You look idiotic," Joren hissed.

"I thought you didn't want me to speak."

"I want you to not make me look bad." He brushed some stray hairs from his face. As angry red as he was, she couldn't help but notice he still managed to look the most handsome of any of the boys in the dining hall. It was such a waste. The gods would have been kinder to make men and women as beautiful as their souls, but then people would start calling warts and sallow skin attractive.

After a few moments, she was sick of hearing him scrape the plates. She reached forward and covered his hand. "Would you stop that?"

He jerked away and hissed, "Stupid bitch!"

Keladry coughed into her napkin as she discreetly kicked him in the shins under the table. He bit back a yelp and gave her a warning look.

"If you're so disappointed in the match, surely you can veto your mother's decision."

Joren snorted. "You would enjoy that, wouldn't you? And then gossip spreads that I snubbed you when I'm this close to ruin and without any of my father's allies at my back. I'm not stupid."

"That's news to me," she replied.

"Don't worry your ugly little head, Mindelan, I'll figure a way out of this that does not dishonor me. I can't say the same for _you_, but frankly, I could care less."

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "And you think in your situation anyone would believe you?"

The conversation ended there. They finished supper in silence. Everything tasted bitter to Keladry: the potatoes, the lentils, even the pork. And the real tragedy was that this was the first night of the rest of her life.

---------

Joren announced his arrival at his mother's palace suite by slamming the door to the outer chamber. Lady Einsrell rushed in from her dressing room.

"Joren! If you ever slam a door like that in my presence, it will be the last thing you do."

"I welcome death! Better off with father in the Peaceful Realms than marry that girl—if you could even call her a girl!"

Lady Einsrell slapped her son. The action made a resounding crack in the air as his head whipped to the side.

"If I ever hear you speak ill of your future wife again, it will be a fate worse than death for you." She grabbed his face and brought him close. "Who, son? Who was it that hid all your faults and flaws from your father? Did he ever find out that you cried when your first dog died? Did he ever find out about the bad marks you got in your classes your first year?"

"No," Joren forced out, refusing to meet her gaze.

"And what did he do when he found out about your fights last year?"

The punch of a full grown man was far worse than his mother's slap. Joren had struck back and earned his father's respect, but he still held no love for the late Burchard of Stone Mountain. He admired his father, yes, but everything would have gone to pieces if it wasn't for Einsrell.

His mother pulled the strings. She always hid her game, making it look like all the decisions had come from her husband while she posed as the meek and subservient wife. The one thing she had not been able to control was Burchard's secret plans, the same plans that now had widow and son locked in a battle of wills about how they were going to navigate the political mudfield they stood in. Not a week ago Einsrell had to undergo a royal interrogation that had her raging at him in place of his father for half the night.

Einsrell patted her hair and took a deep breath. She smoothed down the shoulders of Joren's tunic. "It's just you and me now. You'll do as your told and marry that girl. If she succeeds in becoming a knight and we are seen supporting her every step of the way, our positions will be secure." She gripped his chin tightly. "You see to it that she holds her own... protects herself from anyone else who would hurt her. I can't very well have grandchildren if my daughter-in-law gets killed, can I?"

He removed her hand and plopped down on a chair, sending the legs skidding half a foot on the floor. Joren folded his arms. "I only have to marry her if she lives, right?"

"You only live if she lives. You have cousins, son. I am not without alternative heirs to throw my time and effort into," she said in such a low voice that Joren gulped involuntarily. Her finely arched eyebrows lowered. "Have I made myself clear?"

She got her answer. The door seemed to shake on its hinges when it hit the frame.

"Insolent boy," she muttered.

------

Meanwhile, Keladry was surrounded. Her mind cataloged options for her escape. The door was blocked, but one well-placed strike would move that person out of the way. She could escape back down the hall, but one of them had much longer legs than her. He was sure to catch up and tackle her.

"Mithros' shield, Kel! Just tell us what's going on already," Neal begged.

Keladry clutched her books to her chest. "Can we at least get some studying done first? If I tell you now, that's all that you'll talk about."

"We won't get anything done anyway waiting to hear the explanation behind this one," Owen pointed out. Owen was a first year page, but was already such a good friend to be concerned about her.

They were right of course. She gently pushed past the wall of boys and entered her room, leaving the door open for them to follow. Keladry sat on the floor while the rest took their usual places with their books on their laps.

"Just one chapter. Then I'll tell you," she sighed. Life was not going to be as normal as it had been this first part of her second year. She wanted to savor it while she still could. As if life was not hard enough taking on tradition, she had to deal with her worst enemy becoming apart of her family. At some point, they would marry. Marry!

Keladry clapped her book shut.

Immediately, the boys inched closer, their own books cast aside.

"So?"

"Out with it!"

"You gave him one good, didn't you? Right in the gut, eh?"

"In the eye! They must have healed it already!"

"She did no such thing."

All faces turned toward the door. Joren leaned against the doorway with his arms folded across his chest. He looked at no one but Keladry. Neal stood up.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

"I came to speak to my future wife," Joren said nonchalantly. "So if you'll excuse us..." He beckoned to Keladry with two raised fingers. "We have to talk."

The simultaneous gasps that sounded like a gust of wind caused Keladry to obey the request as quickly as she could to elude the questions sure to follow. She hopped over books and papers. Hands brushed her arms, touched her back as if they could make her stay.

"Kel!" Neal called. "It's not true."

"It wasn't a choice—"

"Come now, honeydew," Joren interrupted, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "We'll be just a moment."

He spun her around and led her out, yanking the door shut behind them. His nails began to press in hard on her bicep. She slapped his hand away and twisted out of his hold.

"What did you want to say to me? I haven't got all evening."

Joren pointed at her. "I thought about this very thoroughly. I can't back out. But you can. You can back out and I can save face." He threw his hands up in the air. "Do you _really_ want to wed me?"

"Of course not!"

"Then break the engagement, you stupid girl!"

She backed away and shook her head. "I can't. My family needs the bride price your mother will pay."

Joren peered at her. He pinched the bridge of his nose and paused before saying, "So we're in this horrid mess because you're _poor_?"

"Take that back. My family cares for many people. We're spread thin."

"No, you're poor." The superior attitude made Keladry want to smack him, but she had told her mother that she could be a good wife. Good wives didn't smack their husbands. At least, not in public.

He sighed. "Alright then. Go back to your idiotic friends. But rest assured that I am going to make your life miserable."

Keladry spoke in a deadpan voice. "Oh dear. That was what _I_ was going to say."

They glared at each other with the heat of the sun and went their separate ways.

-------

Joren walked into the room and watched as all eyes fell on him. He inclined his head as way of a greeting.

"So what will it be?" Vinson asked with gleaming eyes.

"What will what be?" Joren replied.

Garvey of Runnerspring grinned. "What's your plan to get rid of the girl? If she gets caught in something _dirty_, you will be justified in breaking off the engagement and she could be thrown out of training."

The eager faces of his companion showcased different levels of mischief and cruelty. What fine minds these youths were. But what of loyalty?

He measured out his words carefully. His mother had reminded him that there weren't many things he could do that she wouldn't find out. He wouldn't expect his comrades to understand the wrath of his mother. Not if he wanted to keep his dignity. "It's not in my best interests to sabotage her right now."

The glee transformed into disbelief, then into something else. The reptiles inside them uncurled with tails already lashing. _Aha_. He had fallen into a pit of snakes.

"You've been turned into one of those progressives, haven't you? You _want_ to marry her," Vinson spat.

"Hardly. But I am more concerned with my own welfare than the realm's dying traditions." He paused. "You're to leave Mindelan alone. There's nothing that can be done right now that won't reflect on me."

Zahir scoffed. "You think we take orders from you? Ah, the mighty have certainly fallen."

The boys also reminded him of a pack of hyenas with their dark eyes and anticipating expressions. They had fed like scavengers off his kills for so long he almost forgot what great hunters they were. They neglected one very important detail: he was still the best of them all.

"You will take orders from me." He paused and pretended to look saddened. "They are still investigating what allies and accomplices my father had in his plans. The Crown might be grateful for any information I can find. It will do nothing to bring back my poor father—gone before his time—but it will restore our honor. It's the least I can do in his memory."

The venom was dripping off their fangs, but the wretches hissed and retreated, curled and sidewinded. He scanned the room. Satisfied with the effect of his threat, he made to leave.

"I need to study. Be sure to keep focused on your own studies as well."

Back in his own room, he sat at his desk and attempted to focus on his work. He started idly scratching swirling marks into the sides of his candles with a quill. He flicked off the wax gathered on the tip and set about writing. It wasn't too long before he stopped again.

Friends. People who had friends were vulnerable. Friends asked to share secrets, to be partners in hidden things. But he liked his secrets. His parents showed him the power of them. Einsrell would never have the iron grip over Stone Mountain she possessed if she had not kept her real personality hidden. Burchard would never have married a cobra like her if he had known. His foolish father had thought he had married a dove.

Joren hated that he respected his mother. He detested that she was better the way she was than a doting loving mother who would not point out his weaknesses. If she had ever been that woman, he would have thought her beneath him. He preferred the way she was, a little voice at the back of his head that always called him inferior.

And here he was, fated to marry someone who wanted to be his equal. He preferred never marrying at all. He could give his cutthroat relatives a chance to fight amongst each other for the inheritance. His family was a loose network of scheming, deceitful, selfish people who all happened to share the same blood and collectively celebrate their superiority. It would be a bloodbath—the best entertainment in the whole country.

Eventually, he put away his classwork and sat there, debating what to do next. He was too alert to sleep. He took out another book to read. This was his life without those jackals, eh? No companions to share complaints with on the state of the world, then read a book! How boring. Well, he could always annoy that trollop Keladry.

The thought came upon him so naturally that he was slightly disgusted with himself. His future must not only consist of Keladry. Annoying her? Making her miserable? When had his life stopped being about him, but her instead? He couldn't focus on the book any longer, but he wouldn't go to bed. Hours later he fell asleep, convincing himself that he would never marry her. Yet it was the distant laughter of that little voice in the back of his mind telling him otherwise that lulled him to sleep.

------

"You just love being the subject of gossip, don't you?" Neal drawled as they passed a pair of ladies whispering and looking at Keladry.

"Do we really have to go over why this is not something I meant to do? Because I've already done that a dozen times."

Neal shrugged. His light brown hair was tousled. How did he manage to get it like that so often? There was a time when Keladry would think of brushing it back and that time was not too long ago. Now every time she thought of it, instead of blushing, she saw Joren giving her a look of disgust. If Joren was as nauseating a person as she thought he was, he would probably seek girls on his own. She was not obligated to hold up the same chastity if he wasn't.

But that was the difference between them. Even if it was within her power and even if she might be justified to do it considering what he would probably do, she could never go through with some casual fling with another person. She was too young to think about those kinds of things, far too young, but knowing that she was already promised made her feel like she was grown.

She discreetly glanced down at her chest. Not quite.

Over the past few weeks, the fuss still had not died down. The girl page found a husband before many of the court's prettier ladies--and the heir of Stone Mountain no less! They sighed around her all the time and "such a pity!" became the echo behind her. She could escape the identity of being betrothed during class and during training, but it ended there. Dinner became mandatory socializing time, seated away from everyone else. Luckily, Joren and Keladry rarely spoke. When they did, they sniped and hissed.

The few times they encountered each other in training, he made moves to hit her and make it look like an accident. The only benefit from it was that she had a much quicker eye for cheap shots.

Keladry sighed.

"How is your family doing?" Neal asked.

"Hmm? Oh, fine. I've gotten more letters from my brothers in sisters than I have in a long time. Some advice from my older siblings."

The letters read "congratulations," but somehow only meant "we are sorry; we have been there." At least her married brothers and sisters had been paired with willing spouses. Keladry could not imagine having any of the things that they had. A fief, a shared bed, a child...

But first, a shield.

Neal and Keladry had settled into some light conversation mostly consisting of her chastising him for complaining so much about classwork. He regaled her with some flighty poetry. She almost laughed. She treasured the time she spent with friends who could distract her from her troubles. The hand on her shoulder was another distraction.

_Wait. _Keladry realized the hand did not belong to Neal, who was waving at someone behind her.

"Hello."

Keladry turned to face a big redheaded youth who stood five inches taller than her.

"Ah, hello..." she began quietly. Cleon was definitely a friend, but they did not encounter each other that much these days. Neal nodded his greeting.

"I heard about the engagement." Cleon winced as he continued uncertainly, "Congratulations?"

She smiled. "Thanks, but... well... You know."

"As do we all," Neal murmured. She shot him a warning look.

The three stood in the hallway unsure of what to say next. Keladry was just starting to notice what bright eyes Cleon had when she suddenly saw an image of Joren's fierce blue eyes over his shoulder. She looked down at her shoes. Neal finally cleared his throat and put his hands on his hips.

"Well! See you at supper, right?"

Cleon grinned. "Right. Take care. And chin up, Kel."

"Right," she called, smiling up at him.

When he was gone, she and Neal resumed their walk. Her friend itched to pester her about how she suddenly acted around Cleon. She knew it herself and was even more mortified that she did so in front of Neal. As if it wasn't difficult enough dealing with watching Neal sigh over court ladies and write them poetry. Now he could tease her in retaliation for all the teasing she had given him.

"I'm going to do some glaive work," she announced.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine. Just need to feel more like myself."

She did not look back at him as she left. It wasn't necessary to know of the big grin on his face.

Back in her room, she cleared space aside to swing her glaive around and settled into her pattern dances. The blade whistled through the air. Her muscles moved in concert; the flow felt like water changing its course to surmount the obstacles before it. Like rocks in a waterfall, diverging the course of a single droplet. And which one was she? The water drop flying off into roaring mist to break apart before it reached the lake below?

She looked into a cup of water that Lalasa had left for her before she began practicing. Her wavering reflection showed a sturdy girl with a delicate nose and dreamy eyes under a neatly cut curtain of bangs. Would this be more or less the same reflection she saw five years from now? The glassy water reminded her of the way the light hit a knight's freshly polished armor as he rode out to serve the Crown.

The meek and innocent needed a protector, not a girl who couldn't focus on her own dreams. She readied herself again and began a second routine.

-----

After the summer camping trip, she was invited to stay at Stone Mountain since it would be the last summer before Joren would be absent more frequently as Paxton of Nond's squire. Lalasa volunteered to chaperone (they got along so well and Lalasa was more concerned about Keladry's propriety than Keladry herself was), but was more often than not inclined to stay in Keladry's suite to sew. Keladry also brought along Jump, whom no one took to. Like Lord Wyldon of Cavall, Stone Mountain also produced many great hunting dogs. The sight of the former stray made lips curl. No one said anything, if only because they knew how important Keladry was to the return of honor to Stone Mountain.

Stone Mountain represented the people who lived there: beautiful, but cold. It was an ancient keep with many tapestries depicting the family's heroic deeds from the last several hundred years. In doing so, however, the place felt like a mausoleum, a shrine to the dead. All colors within it appeared muted, except the sapphire on Lady Einsrell's finger. Keladry saw herself in the mirror and even thought she looked particularly gray.

"Grave is more like it," she said to herself.

The other strange thing about staying there was that Joren was polite and made conversation with her at meals. They were seated directly across from his mother and his knightmaster so she had a feeling he was not doing it willingly. His expressions were unnerving, like she was staring at some twin brother of his who could only talk about the weather.

To shake off her uneasiness, she set out to find a space she could practice in. Lalasa was in her chambers so often that she did not want to disturb the girl by swinging around weapons. Jump followed her like a bodyguard. At the sign of anyone's approach, he growled. Just as he was doing right then.

Keladry lowered her practice sword. A young man dressed in a dark green tunic and black leggings stood in the entrance to the practice court. He had blond hair (after a few days there, she felt like the only brunette in the world when her hair was actually very light sometimes) and the pale skin that hinted what Joren might grow to look like. But the man's face was blunter, more easily forgotten, like anybody she could pass by on the street in Corus.

"So you're the girl," the man remarked.

She bowed her head. "Keladry of Mindelan. And who am I addressing?"

The man paused. Then he dipped into a low bow from the waist. "Perrin Trulle. I'm your Joren's eldest cousin from his mother's side. Very close, Joren and I."

Of course he was family. Keladry continued to watch him while wondering what he would do now. Watch her? The idea made her flesh prickle uncomfortably. She noticed Jump still in his menacing stance, growling softly. She retrieved a makeshift leash she had created for him especially for this visit to Stone Mountain to please Einsrell and tethered the dog to post on the far side of the room. He jumped at her, his paws scrabbling against her thighs.

"No, Jump. Behave for me, please?"

The dog whined. He did not settle down like she wished, but paced back and forth. She returned to the practice circle.

"Might I spar with you?" Perrin asked. "I hear you're very good."

Keladry frowned. "I don't see how word can get around about such things."

"The only openly girl page in over a hundred years? Oh, trust me, sweet buttercup, word travels quickly for someone like you."

She had decided that she did not like Perrin and that it was shaping up that he might be even worse than his cousin. For instance, within the first few moments of meeting her, she found herself challenged to a duel. He had called it a practice match, but the wicked glimmer in his eyes told her otherwise.

"To first blood? Figuratively, that is..." he offered.

The tips of his canine teeth were a little sharp, she noticed. He probably wanted to draw _real_ blood. Keladry accepted with a nod.

They circled each other slowly. Keladry studied the way he held himself. The man was relaxed, as if he didn't expect much from her. She kept her expression cool and waited for him to make the first move. The arrogant ones tended to make the first move.

He lunged forward quickly, almost a bit too quickly for her. She parried and sidestepped. Her body adjusted to move behind him and advance another blow, but he spun out of reach and was on his guard again. Perrin's lazy smile reminded her of a cat with cream on its mouth. He'd had a taste and he wanted more.

Again, a quick strike, this time a strike from above that Keladry blocked and pushed off with a grunt. She was not much smaller than him, so he couldn't simply overpower her with brute strength. She swung and crossed behind him. Like he already knew what she was going to do, his sword was out behind him and he was whirling around to face her. She knew it was unlikely that she could beat someone older with more experience, but she was not going to just let him have it served on a platter.

And so they danced. Keladry parried and moved out of reach. She had to compensate for his speed somehow. Perrin was a seasoned swordsman. It was probably already impressive that a page like her could even hold her own with him for as long as they seemed to be doing. But to constantly be on the defense like this! Keladry pushed him off hurriedly and put space between them again. Just as quickly she feinted toward him before changing the direction of her swing. He moved away, knocking her strike aside.

He drove her back now with a flurry of strikes which she could barely meet when a sharp blow landed on her forearm, making her arm sing out in pain. She grimaced and retreated. Despite having taken the first blow, Perrin kept coming. His face split in a gleeful grin that made Keladry feel like the cornered canary before the ruthless cat.

"That's enough!"

The interruption was enough distraction for Keladry to move out of striking range. Perrin lowered his practice sword and flicked his ponytail over his shoulder. In the entryway stood Joren. He was livid. His fists were clenched so tightly that his already pale knuckles were white. His bloodless lips pressed into a tight line.

"Greetings, cousin," Perrin nodded. "Here to rescue your bride?"

Joren smiled curtly. "You did not have to put on such a show just because I didn't deem to introduce you. Now don't you have business doing whatever it is that you do? You know, being not a knight nor anyone else capable of inheriting any property."

Perrin chuckled, but the sound that came out of him sounded more like a death threat than any laugh Keladry had ever heard. He bowed to Keladry, still smirking. "Of course, of course. Thank you for the honor of the match, Keladry. Not what I was expecting, but of course you _are_ a girl."

He sauntered out of the court, bumping shoulders with his younger cousin as he went. The man did not even have the decency to look winded from the duel. Joren scowled after him. He channeled his anger towards Keladry.

"What did you think you were doing fighting him of all people?"

Keladry raised her chin. "He challenged and I accepted. It was just practice."

"Nothing with that steaming pile of horse dung is ever just practice," Joren spat. He looked her up and down. "You were horrible!"

Keeping her calm was harder than it usually was. The snide remarks about her gender were starting to become droning noise to her, but her skill was another thing entirely. "I was not horrible. He was very good."

Joren stomped towards the weapons rack. He yanked his surcoat over his head and rolled up his sleeves. He draped the clothing on the rack and picked up a practice sword identical to hers. "Right. We're going to practice."

The determination in his eyes threw Keladry off. A sheen of moisture had gathered on her forehead. She wiped it off with the back of her forearm. "Why would you practice with me?"

"Because you're embarrassing me!" he bellowed.

"Me embarrassing you? But you already do that well enough without me," she retorted.

He answered with an attack, almost as quick as his cousin. Keladry had no choice but to participate.

What seemed like several bells later, Keladry threw down her sword and raised her hands to shoulder level. "That's it. I'm done," she wheezed. "We've missed supper and I'm starving."

"Pick that back up," Joren said between panting breaths. "We're not done."

"We're done, Joren. I'm not playing your silly ego games anymore. I'm going to soak in a nice hot bath now, but if you want to keep beating yourself up, then you go right ahead."

Joren thrust the practice sword in her direction. "You don't get it! If I have to be stuck with your reputation as much as you have to be, then it might as well be a good one! If you're weak, they'll think I'm weak." He spat and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "That's not happening."

She tightened her grip. "I'm tired, Joren, and so are you. I'm all for extra practice, but we're going to wear ourselves into exhaustion."

"Another bell! Or is that too much for a girl to handle? I know I can handle it."

Her arm raised and she opened her mouth to speak, but stopped. The line of his lips pressed tightly together was like a razor's edge. If she argued once more, he would cut her with her own reply.

She bent down to pick up her sword. Joren sighed and resumed his own stance.

----

The next morning, Keladry ached like she never had before. She moved so slowly that Lalasa could tell right away that her mistress needed help. The maid helped her dress and comb her hair, much to the page's protest. Lalasa also offered to fetch breakfast and deliver a message to Lady Einsrell that Keladry was ill, but doing so could have attracted more trouble than it was worth. The widow preferred to pamper Keladry on principle.

"After all dear," Lady Einsrell had said, "you need some pampering with what you do in your normal time."

But really, it was all about endearing herself to Keladry, to make herself look good, and perhaps to make up for her son's obvious indifference towards Keladry's wellbeing. She already mentioned once that Keladry was like the daughter she never had (about time which Joren, who was doing an excellent job of being polite by being silent, had started to choke on his food).

At breakfast, Lady Einsrell tried a new method of acting friendly with Keladry.

"Where is that charming little dog of yours? The one with all that.. _character_?"

Keladry swallowed her bite of poached egg. "Sleeping in, most likely."

"You probably haven't let him have a chance at exploring the grounds. And here your time with us is almost up!" Lady Einsrell leaned forward. "Joren, dear, why don't you go on a walk with Keladry and her little dog. Perhaps he'll catch a hare if he's lucky."

Joren also seemed to be feeling the same soreness that she did by the economy of his movements. His cold gaze flickered towards her. "If you're up to it."

She ignored her screaming muscles as she sat up taller and nodded. "I'd be delighted."

That wiped the smile right off his face.

Needless to say, they took their time. In fact, they had not even taken more than ten steps outdoors before they turned to each other and wordlessly redirected their journey towards the stables. Jump pranced ahead, unaware that the two humans behind him were inwardly crying with each step they took.

The horse she chose was glad for the first bit of extended attention in days. She patted the gelding's neck and let out a sigh of relief. Here was the only proof that this fief was not all against her. Meanwhile, Joren saddled and mounted a white stallion. True to breeding, the stallion snorted in her direction and tossed its head. She wasn't surprised. Even a mouse scurrying through the kitchen would probably look down its nose at her if it lived at Stone Mountain. The horse mouthed her shoulder.

"Except for you," she whispered, petting its muzzle.

They rode slowly through the surrounding countryside down from the namesake mountain against which the keep stood. The mountain itself was a silent giant with a distant snowy cap. Goats jumped along the mountainside around a small herd like a dot to her vision with a staff bigger than himself. He was far out of earshot and he probably couldn't see her, but she waved land was beatiful there. The flowers were purple and blue along their path. Watching Jump leap from bunch to bunch after butterflies and other buzzing insects on top of everything else was almost enough to make her forget where she was. She sighed contentedly.

"Let's get down to business," Joren said, effectively dispelling the mood.

Keladry turned to him. "What business?"

He shrugged. "Sir Paxton of Nond has chosen to take me on as his squire. I won't be around the Palace as much as before."

"You sound sad about that," Keladry noted dryly. "But that can't be right."

"You'll be on your own."

"I've been on my own against you, if you recall."

Joren frowned. "Has anyone given you a particularly hard time recently? Picked any fights?"

The question struck a cord within her. She regarded him suspiciously. "Only your cousin."

"And why do you think that is?"

Keladry goaded her horse up to a trot. "I don't even want to know. Can we change the subject?"

"And when I'm gone, it will be right back to the start!"

She turned her horse around and faced him. "I don't need protecting. I held my own against you and I'll continue to hold my own against anyone who comes up against me. Just you wait."

Joren ignored her and spurred his horse ahead.

He had eventually become accustomed to the thought of her. He had not accepted who she was or what she wanted, but when his thoughts turned to her, as they eventually _had_ to do, he did not stubbornly curse having to even think of her. It was a necessary evil and he had made his peace with it.

Now that he was a squire, he might hardly run into her. There would be whole stretches of time when he could define himself with his swordsmanship, not the ever-present problem of her. She would be bothered in his absence, but she obviously did not want his help. He could only hope his mother didn't find out what Keladry dealt with.

The time would continue stretching. Keladry was already tall, but she'd grow taller. He was growing, too. He put on more muscle. He was filling out his frame. That was all physical change. As a person, he had become nothing but more self-sufficient. Paxton was a good match for a knightmaster because the man would guide him as was necessary, but he would also leave Joren to do his duties in solitude. Joren appreciated that. The squire could socialize as well as his mother with fake praise and shallow conversation. He could even compliment. But by the end of the evening, he would rather be left alone. He found his evenings more peaceful without the need to impress his former companions with boasts of who was the better page, the superior young man.

Paxton's plans also included bringing Joren to meet knights and lords who had been friends to Burchard, men who were now worried old men. In Joren, they saw their worst nightmares. Not all the men were bad, but they depended too much on the old traditions, the ones that Joren was raised in. They were middling knights with orders to take and fiefs to run. That was their lot.

It occurred to Joren that this was his lot, too. Serve the realm, support a family, grow old and die. He immediately wanted something else so intensely that he wanted to cry. Freedom. Freedom to fight great battles, sleep in a field with only his horse for company, getting lost from city to city until he lost track of time. Then he might retire to some untouched place on a mountain with only a single retainer he paid not to speak and no kin anywhere near him.

No family, no wife. Perfection.

------

"I'm waiting," Joren sang irritably.

"Then go on without me!" her muffled voice called. "No one's forcing you to escort me to supper. I don't even know what put that idea into your empty head."

"Four words, two people: my mother, your mother."

He was getting awfully good at making her lose her composure.

Since their engagement began, the unlikely pair had traded visits with each other's family whenever they were near enough. Kel's parents and her brother Inness had come to Corus to congratulate her on passing the page examinations and invited Joren out with them. Keladry and Joren themselves did not write each other letters since Joren became a squire. Midwinter, the end of summer before training resumed, and all the odd crossroads in between became the only contact they had with each other. For all Joren knew, Keladry could finally be bedding that friend of hers she had been making doe eyes at since they were pages. They were young, but he couldn't deny that she had grown significantly in the years he had known her. She could be fooling around with boys. Why anyone would find that talkative nuisance Queenscove attractive at all was beyond him. Queenscove was more of a girl sometimes than Keladry was.

This coming year Keladry would be a squire herself, and have a lot less opportunities to see her "friend." Not that Joren cared. He had no reason to care. Knowing her outstanding sense of morality, she probably ran away every time she thought of such behavior.

The door swung open. Keladry's hazel eyes met levelly with his. They were both the same height. He secretly blanched at the idea of being shorter than her. After all, he had seen her parents. It was definitely a possibility.

Something out of place at Keladry's neck caught his eye. There was a chain that was tucked into her dress. He wasn't one for propriety with someone he was in no way at all interested romantically, so Joren snatched at the chain and pulled out whatever was hanging on the end of it. Keladry's eyes widened.

"An anti-pregnancy charm?" Joren stared at her squarely. "_Have_ you bedded Queenscove after all?"

She snatched it from him and stuffed it back under the front of her dress. It was no fun for him that her cheeks did not flush pink.

"I've bedded no one! My mother said I was getting to be the right age soon and you were sure to notice eventually and wanted me to be prepared. Trust me, it was an awkward conversation. I insisted that I had no need for it, but she wouldn't listen."

With that ammunition, Joren decided the best thing he could do was give her a flirtatious smile. Keladry immediately narrowed her eyes at him, turned heel, and marched down the hall.

"But flame of my heart! Your chambers are right here! They'll understand if we're absent from supper!" he shouted after her. He was rewarded with the rare sound of an emotionally-restrained girl unsuccessfully stifling a scream.

If anyone heard their exchange, no one showed it. They sat through supper without having to speak too much since Inness was describing a funny thing that had happened on his way there. Keladry wondered why Cleon was not there with her brother, being Inness' squire. The other people dining with her family were friends of theirs she had met a few times before, but still no redhead. She looked to see what Joren was doing. He appeared to be listening to Iness, but she could tell he was completely disinterested. She nudged him underneath the table. He looked at her and rolled his eyes.

He mouthed, _I don't see what all the fuss is about._

_Be nice!_ She mouthed back.

"How adorable! Already sending little love messages and playing footsie under the table, eh?" Paxton chuckled.

Everyone laughed except for Inness, who waited impatiently to continue his story. The two youths looked down at their food and pretended not to hear. Gratefully, no one directed any more attention to them for the rest of the meal. Keladry decided she was happy Cleon wasn't there to witness it. After supper, everyone broke apart into groups of two or three to chat. There was talk of going back to their rooms for a drink and perhaps a few games of chess. Lady Ilane dropped back from her husband's side and reminded Keladry to come to her chambers to retrieve new dresses she had just ordered for her.

Keladry nodded. Her mother touched her arm fondly and left. Without her family to smile for, Keladry's face relaxed. Joren quickly stole up beside her. She managed to ignore him until they were almost to their rooms.

"What's got your feet dragging?" he asked. "I thought you'd be excited to get away from people making us out to be some adorable couple."

She kept walking. Unfortunately, he followed like a persistent fly buzzing about her head.

"Leave me alone. I have things to do."

The blonde shrugged. "Well, _I_ have some idle time."

"To what? Annoy me? I won't have it. Go away."

He ran in front of her and blocked her path. His grin reminded her of the malicious look on his face during their first fist fight. He winked at her. "Something tells me you're upset because no one will pick you for a squire."

It boggled her how he managed to cut to the quick and make her feel miserable. She shoved past him and quickened her pace. He trailed behind her still.

"Ever since the examinations ended, you've had agemates telling you about arrangments already made with their future knightmasters and everything. You're the only one left out, eh?"

"Neal hasn't told me anything," she said. Keladry shut her mouth quickly and scolded herself. It was so hard not to respond to his baiting. She fantasized about punching Joren's perfect little nose into oblivion.

Joren snickered. "Of course he hasn't told you anything. I heard the Lioness herself is going to take him on as her squire. He probably wanted to spare you the humiliation"

Keladry halted.

"Hit a nerve, did I?"

She turned and made her fantasy come true. Joren's head snapped back. His hands flew up to his face. His eyes squinted in pain, maybe fury, and he launched himself at her. They wrestled to the ground, hitting and kicking each other any way they could manage. Joren tried to bend her arms behind her back, but she got free and started pulling his hair. And she couldn't remember who started biting and pinching first, but she knew that it hurt.

It was probably not the most dignified way to fight for knights in training such as themselves, but she could never trust him to fight honestly, not even after a couple years' engagement. _Especially_ after a couple years' engagement. She leaned in as she tried to pin him down. His breath ruffled her hair. This young man would be her husband one day and the only way they would touch each other was to fight. Keladry grunted as she tried to put a bit more force behind her hands. He spat at her.

They managed to get to their feet and were trying to throw each other into the walls over and over again when a familiar barking sound reached her ears. Joren's eyes suddenly went wide and he yelped. He jumped apart from Keladry and hit the wall with his backside. There was another yelp this time, except it sounded like an animal.

"Jump! No, down!"

The gray white dog with the myriad of scrapping scars ran to her protectively and barked angrily at Joren, who was leaning against the wall rubbing his bottom.

"Keep that beast away from me!" he yelled.

Keladry knelt down and petted Jump. The dog calmed slightly. "It serves you right."

Joren looked at her incredulously. "Me? You're the one who swung first!"

"Only because you deserved it." She picked up the dog, gave him one final warning look, and departed. This was the young man she was destined to marry. The gods apparently did not think much of her.

----

After the last encounter, Keladry had assumed she would not see him until Midwinter, maybe a few more months longer than that. She least of all didn't expect him to be informed about what was going on in her life. So when they met again the evening after Lord Sir Raoul of Goldenlake and Malorie's Peak took her on as his squire, she was more than a little shocked that he was abreast of all the current events.

She had to pack up quickly and be prepared to leave at a moment's notice. Tomorrow, she would be housed in a room next to Raoul closer to the barracks where the Own slept. Peachblossom would love traveling with the King's Own. He would make a great war horse, she just knew it. The birds flittered around excitedly, too. She wasn't sure if the sparrows really meant to follow her, but there was a special lightness to them that sounded like chatter about the journey to come. She hoped that her knightmaster would not mind them.

The bags. She would need to double-check her things. Lalasa had cried when she helped her mistress and Neal try to fit her weapon-cleaning kit into a trunk last night. The soon-to-be professional dressmaker had insisted on doing the rest of the packing, but Keladry couldn't relax. What else did she need?

"I can't believe you're his squire."

She spun around. "What are you doing here? I thought you were at Nond."

Joren, dressed in the unflattering yellow and brown of his knightmaster, still managed to look his superior-feeling self. "He has business. That's all you need to know."

"You already know everything that is happening to me and I don't get to know what's happening to you? That hardly seems fair."

"It is not my fault that you don't know the right gossips. All you've got is that chatterbrain Queenscove and he speaks of nothing relevant."

Keladry's expression was blank for a few seconds before she smiled. She savored the confusion that spread across his features like a rash.

"I can't be angry with you," she explained. "I'm too happy about finding a knightmaster to waste my time being angry with you."

The push he gave her sent her back just two steps. He grinned. "Guess it's my turn to pick the fight then."

They grappled a bit more like mature adults this time, if mature could be considered not biting each other, but using their hands to pinch all the sensitive spots like the flesh between thumb and forefinger or to hit the kneecap. They came apart quickly and rushed at each other again, this time trying to punch and kick each other a bit more like they were taught. His arms were longer than hers and he boxed her in the ear once to make her dizzy.

She made as if to collapse, but swept him with a low kick. Joren fell onto his backside. He groaned a little, but shook his head and brought up his arms just in time to turn aside Keladry's drop on him so he wasn't pinned underneath. They wrestled for a bit longer before they heard noise coming down the way.

"Can't we ever finish a blasted fight?" Joren hissed. He pushed her off and got up.

They finished straightening their clothes before a servant holding a covered dish discovered them. He bowed and murmured his apologies for interrupting before he hastened away. Keladry knew Joren wanted to continue, but she hurried to follow the servant the long way back to her rooms.

"Maybe next time," she called.

"Mithros, you're built like such a boy."

Keladry smiled. "And you'd look like such a lovely girl if you rouged up your cheeks and combed your pretty yellow hair."

She did not need to look back to see the flush that spread across his angry features.

When they were back in their separate rooms, they sank into hot baths and spread bruise balm on themselves. Joren thought about little pranks he could play on her next time they met, untraceable pranks. He couldn't openly oppose her anymore, but he could still cause more trouble than he was worth. Just because they were getting older did not mean he had to go to the wedding altar without a fight.

Meanwhile, Keladry did not let thoughts of her betrothed trouble her. After all, _she_ was someone's squire now. She could hold her own against males older and stronger than her, just as she had that night. And tomorrow was just one step closer to her shield. Nothing, not even marriage, could get in her way.


	3. Part I continued

Disclaimer: Protector of the Small is the property of Tamora Pierce. Please don't sue me. I just got laid off and I have zero money. There may be two short quoted passages down the line but they will be pretty obvious from the book. Thank ya.

Author's note: the rating has gone up to **Mature**. Take heed. Explanation for the course of this story will be at the beginning of Part III.

And BTW, wow you guys are quick on the feedback. I was only going to post once a week but I feel like it would be cruel since the entire story is already written. I'll be quicker on the turnaround time if it keeps up. Thanks- Sulia

Continuation of Part I.

They met again on the Progress by walking near enough that they could not fake ignorance of the other's presence, not with their knightmasters in visible distance. Keladry was dressed in Goldenlake green bordered in yellow while Joren still wore the yellow and brown of Nond. They walked to the side of the row to leave room for people to pass. Somewhere meat was cooking over an open pit. And elsewhere, a musician had started playing a flute. All these things around them went unnoticed.

They sized each other up. Keladry was now fifteen and knocking experienced knights out of the saddle under Raoul's guidance. Joren had his share of knightly duties and fighting, but Keladry was with the Own. Already, she'd encountered centaurs and bandits. She had been up to far more in one year than he had done in two years. Joren had found out about the griffin, too. Honestly! Who in the world did that _happen_ to? And this, with that mongrel of hers and those sparrows still following her around.

At least he was still taller than her. It was a slight lead, but he secretly treasured looking downward. He imagined he could still see the dust in her hair from jousting. As if she was reading his mind, her hands reached up to smooth down her light brown locks. Her knuckles and fingers were criss crossed with little scars. Some of them were still pink.

"How many scars do you have?" He grimaced.

Her hands dropped. She started to place them behind her back, but then let them hang by her sides.

"They're all from the griffin," she explained. "I have ointment. The scars fade."

"That griffin has dealt more damage than all the other criminals you've ever come across combined," he noted.

She had the decency to look sheepish. "I still want to know who tells you all these things." Then her green-hazel eyes lit up. That was something he was not accustomed to seeing. "Would you like to see the feathers? They make great arrows. And I also discovered that..."

"See feathers? Seriously?"

"_Griffin _feathers."

Joren put his hands on his hips. "You're really trying to rub this in, aren't you, Mindelan? I get it. You're with the Own. You're _somebody's_ squire and finding much more to do than me."

Keladry smirked. "Acknowledging your defeat? How unlike you."

They were getting along. _Maybe_ they were getting along. If they were in a less public place, maybe they would already be punching and kicking each other. He had to admit he wanted to see if she'd picked up anything new since they'd last seen each other. He was going to endure the Ordeal that Midwinter. If he couldn't fight off Keladry, he didn't deserve to become a knight.

"Would you dine with us tonight?" Keladry asked.

The olive branch was extended. He was by no means required to accept the invitation. But people were already here watching the two of them talk. If he said no, somehow he knew it would get back to Lady Einsrell.

"If it pleases you," he said with a sigh.

"Trust me. It doesn't," she responded with a hint of a laugh hiding in the wings.

He gave her an odd look, but she was already sauntering away.

_That ought to keep him on his toes_, she thought. Joren would be so busy wondering what had gotten into her that he wouldn't even think of ambushing her for a "sparring match." When she saw him briefly last year, they had what felt like fifty heartbeats of uninterrupted malicious intentions before they had to brush themselves off and walk in separate directions before anyone else noticed their absence. A lot of damage could be done in so short a time. Carrying about their duties after that were painful, but they couldn't let on what they'd been doing. Doubtless Raoul and Paxton would have informed their parents. Thanks to her mysterious benefactor's bruise balm, she did not have to worry too much about that.

Keladry started to seek out Shinkokami and her ladies-in-waiting. A tall shadow tipped over her shoulder. She turned and opened her mouth in surprise.

"Hey!" Neal swooped in and began ambling beside her as if he had been doing so for the last hour.

Keladry looked around her, frowning. "Where did you come from?"

Her best friend shrugged. "I happened to be around. For instance, I saw the friendly banter between you and your 'beloved' over there."

"Ha-ha. Right. Nothing is ever friendly with that scoundrel, you know that."

Sometimes it was as if the gods had created Neal specifically to tell her all the things that nagged at her from this distant isolated place in her mind, except in a blunt way that made her want to scream.

"You're starting to get used to him. Admit it," Neal stage-whispered.

"I don't understand why you're so cheeky about that. You hate him."

Neal tapped his chin. "Well, it is incredibly fascinating how much differently he acts around you. I imagine half his snide remarks are just habit by now."

"Says you," she scoffed. Keladry debated telling him about some of her scuffles with Joren in the past years.

"I'm just saying that the two of you seem to be giving each other a chance under the guise of obligation. I think I might as well start trying my luck with the fellow, too. So what does he like? Does he hold your hand? Can I tease him about that?"

He wiggled his winged eyebrows. Keladry wondered if Neal had a death wish.

When he heard the metaphorical rattle shake, it was too late for him to step into the snake's nest. Joren stopped abruptly when he made eye contact with Vinson. He waited for the other squire to continue his approach. Vinson's face had cleared up only slightly, still leaving pock marks and red splotches. It wouldn't surprise Joren if the skin condition was venereal.

"Joren," Vinson greeted. Neither boy held out his hand to clasp the other.

"Vinson. I see you've been well."

"More than well. Fantastic!" He perked up and winked at Joren. "I understand your tactics, you know. I always have. Back then, I was a bit angry about it... you about-facing like that. I thought it was more important to have the first attack than to think strategy. Let's put it behind us, eh?" He leaned forward conspiratorially. "If you can get away from Sir Paxton tonight, I know a place we can go. The girls are pretty and you don't even have to remember their names."

Girls? He meant whores. And who knew where _they_ had been. The vice had always been beneath him, though he'd been brought to such an establishment before if only to get acquainted with what his father considered the rights of a man.

Joren did his best to look disappointed. "I must spend the evening with the girl."

Vinson made a face. "Poor man. Can't you get out of it? Say you promised to run an errand and you'll have to go into town."

There was something about his former friend that made Joren feel dirty just looking at him. He had nothing against a little fun. The two of them had plenty of fun when they were pages. However, these were the days to put that kind of fun away. Vinson's dangerous behavior made this especially true. The last thing Joren needed was to give anyone ammunition against him. Joren had the displeasure of being under the king's hard gaze earlier on the Progress. His father's mistakes continued to weigh him down.

"I need my rest," Joren continued. "I've signed up for a match tomorrow."

As repulsive as Vinson was, he was not entirely thick. He leaned back and stuck his chin out. "Alright. I understand. Best of luck to you, of course."

Vinson left, casting scathing looks over his shoulder at his former comrade. Joren made a mental note to scan the lists for who else would be competing, friends of Vinson, friends that used to be Joren's friends. It would probably be easier on him if he knew there weren't any people out to get him. Easy, yes, but not fun. And this was the sort of fun that Joren could still enjoy.

------

The area was marked off with ropes hanging with little flags of red, blue, and yellow. There were no benches around this area as there were around the jousting lanes. Keladry found a spot near the official's table where they were keeping the list of competitors in the small tournament they had set up. People of all classes were standing around waiting for the matches to begin. Knights, servants, even ladies were there to watch. Keladry wondered if she would happen to make the acquaintance of other young girls who desired to wield swords.

Talking buzzed about her. She had not even seen the lists, but apparently everyone else around her had, or at least heard about the participants. She wasn't surprised to see a few men shake hands and pass each other coin. There was a particular crowd of older men toward the opposite side from her that caught her interest. Haughty frowns were etched into their features like rock and they talked amongst themselves as if they were the judges who would be ruling the matches.

This match was one of the few things she noticed that Joren talked willingly about last night. Raoul had been impressed with Joren's drive. The boy squire would be up against knights who had much more experience than him, the same sort of competition that Keladry had in jousting.

She remembered the night they had spent sparring with dulled practice swords. Joren surpassed Perrin's skill. That much was evident. Yet he didn't strike at her as maliciously as his cousin did. It wouldn't have helped her learn, which was the only explanation that made sense to her. Because of Joren's restraint, the level of skill he displayed there would probably be her first glimpse as well. It was the only reason she wanted to watch. Hopefully he wouldn't mistake it as some attempt to show her support. It wasn't in their obligations.

She arrived in time to watch the match before Joren's. The two knights, both as old as her brother Anders at least, showed an equal level of skill, but eventually one was disarmed and had to yield. A moment was given to cheer the winner and place him in the next bracket. She noticed Joren on their other side of the table. Keladry leaned forward to call to him, but noticed how he was staring vacantly into the middle of the roped off area. She held her tongue.

"Attention! Attention!" a swarthy man announced from behind the official's table. He held up his arm to draw eyes toward him. The spectators hushed. "The next match shall be between Joren of Stone Mountain and Sir Trevin of Glasden Falls! Competitors, enter the arena!"

Joren tugged at his hair once to make sure it was secure in its tie before he ducked underneath the rope and joined another man, not too much older than him. The knight was tall, but sturdily built, dark haired, and serious. He dressed in red and green tunic and hose, reminding her of some carnival patch-doll.

The presiding official was an old man with a short snowy beard who dressed in ornamental armor, who then said something to the announcer. The announcer continued.

"The rules are as follows. The two competitors are to engage in hand to hand combat by the sword. The fight continues until one man is disarmed or yields. The fight also stops at first blood. Any heavy injury from first blood is forgiven if unintentional. Penalties shall be incurred if otherwise." The announcer gave Joren and the knight a stern look. "Agreement to these conditions nullifies any right to challenge your competitor outside of this tourney if the fight does not go your way. Understood?"

Joren nodded without hesitation. Trevin looked at Joren before also giving his consent.

"The match starts at my signal!"

The announcer raised his arm again. The participants faced each other and raised their swords. Keladry noticed Joren's gaze flicker to her briefly. He knew she was watching. How would that affect him? It shouldn't affect him at all, so she did not know why the thought suddenly flew into her head. He was not proving himself to her. She knew he was the better swordsman.

"Begin!"

Trevin feinted toward Joren immediately. Joren brought up his sword to defend. When his opponent switched the angle of his attack, the blond adjusted and parried. With the first loud clang of metal, the cheers began in earnest from all around them. Keladry was slightly jostled by a pair of enthusiastic boys to her right who did not even notice her.

Joren and Trevin moved about every step of the area, causing some people to back up unless they catch a stray blow. Keladry couldn't help but notice the same things that Joren had pointed out to her during that unending night of training so long ago.

_Watch your footwork. You must always have a solid stance that your opponent cannot topple. But don't be rooted in place. You lose maneuverability._

The two pairs of feet danced through the dirt and grass, crossing over quickly, but always anchoring at open angles that braced against heavy strain. Their footwork almost seemed to mirror each other as they turned in circles, then reversed their direction.

_Be aware of your body. If your sword leans to the left, your right side is exposed, like a hedgehog's stomach. Balance is the key. Do not extend yourself toward your opponent more than you can defend, __unless you do not care to live after the finishing blow._

The muscles seemed to stand out underneath their clothing despite their padding. She watched Joren extend and withdraw in the same breath, and do the same in reverse in such a way to bait Trevin to extend towards him. When the knight was vulnerable, Joren pressed forward again and almost caught Trevin against the shoulder before the swords were locked to the hilt. They grunted as they broke apart.

_With these kinds of swords and armor, it's more about who can keep the fight up longer and can swing just as hard as he started. For someone like you, it..._

When someone behind her again jostled for room to see the match, Keladry glanced behind her to see who it was. This time, it was not two little boys.

"Hello, Kel," said Cleon of Kennan.

Somehow, the air seemed to have left her lungs. Keladry breathed in.

"Hello."

Though she had not seen Joren for long stretches of time until that week, she had run into Cleon several times since the Progress began. He was even there when Freckle and Crown had died and had helped her bury them. His easygoing attitude and endless compassion always inspired Keladry to take a step back and wish there were more people like him. It didn't hurt that Cleon was very handsome. His big shoulders and easy smile were hard to ignore.

The older squire nodded toward the dueling combatants. "He's in fine form today."

"Who?" Keladry turned, embarrassed that she needed to remind herself. "Oh. Yes, Joren. He's very good."

"How have you been?"

She shrugged. "Well, I suppose. Even on this Progress without the bandits or the Immortals, life remains as exciting as it ever was."

Her mind had gotten to the state where she did not feel that she had to worry about blushing, but then Cleon set everything in her mind completely upside down.

"I missed you."

Keladry stared at him. Her heart was racing. Why should it have been racing? Who had ever missed her? That was a silly question. Her parents had missed her. Neal had missed her. Lots of people she had come to know and care for said the same things to her, but for some reason this went straight to her core. The three words plucked a lute string that went through the middle of her body, making her shiver as the note resonated.

She tucked her hair behind her hair. "Well, I've missed you too."

Cleon nodded, but didn't offer any more words. They gazed at each other steadily while the rest of the world faded away and they forgot that anyone could be watching.

-----

Joren grimaced when the blade sliced him a long cut across his thigh. Immediately a flag was thrown up and their was a cheer as Trevin of Glasden Falls held up his fist in triumph. Joren straightened up and shook hands with the young knight, but offered no words of congratulations. His eyes flickered past his opponent's shoulder at the crowd of spectators near the official's table.

He turned to face the crowd and bowed once in each direction. He didn't see why he had to bother with the formality. Once he lost, all the attention turned to the winner unless the loser was at death's door. Sadly, Joren would live. He made his way over to where his knightmaster had been watching. Paxton clapped him on the shoulder as soon as Joren was past the rope. The knight helped Joren limp toward the official's table to have his injury tended.

"You did well. I daresay that must have been the second longest match of the day." He stopped and looked like he debated on saying more.

"Go on," Joren said gruffly.

"Did... something distract you at the end?"

Joren sat down behind the official's table on a stool where a healer was waiting to tend to his thigh. Joren did not even look at the healer's face. The warmth of the healing Gift flowed over his leg and crept up his spine, but it did nothing to warm Joren's spirits. He stared down at the healer's hands.

"You told me that distractions would happen in the battlefield. I might as well be aware of everything around me as well as my opponent."

His knightmaster smiled gently. "Yes, if you can master the spread of your senses. You've shown considerable skill in that before, but today it appeared as if something completely stole your attention."

When the healer finished, Joren muttered a thanks and got up. He stood up and looked Paxton straight in his dark eyes. "I was facing a knight of experience. I'll get better."

As he walked away, he could barely hear Paxton say, "You were fine until you noticed her."

And wasn't that the story of his life?

------

After stopping by her tent to fetch Jump, Cleon and Keladry went for a walk. At first, Keladry could only muster up conversation about their experiences as squires and asking how Cleon felt about his upcoming Ordeal that Midwinter. Cleon admitted his fear, but that he felt like her brother Inness had done a lot to make him feel prepared. The conversation switched to Keladry's family briefly and some of the changes to the fief that had been made in the rebuilding. The Progress would continue to Mindelan sometime in spring, so she would finally get to see her home for the first time since the flood. It had been years, so the repairs had been made, but she still expected to see abandoned homes and muddy fields.

Enough time passed by that Keladry thought she might report back to Raoul and see if her knightmaster needed her to run any errands for him. Cleon walked her back to the tent and followed her in after her invitation to see the griffin feathers that her former Immortal charge had left behind.

He held up one downy feather and whistled low. "Well, that certainly is something. I remember you had such a time with it."

"That squawking little bundle of trouble?"

Cleon smirked at her. "You miss it."

"Well..." Keladry chuckled. "I suppose I had gotten used to it. But it couldn't have stayed with me forever."

She looked up and met his gaze again. Later, she thought to herself that she had not seen it coming, but that was a lie.

His lips were soft and gentle. She stayed completely still, but after a moment she leaned toward him and felt the full press of his mouth.

"No," Keladry gasped and turned away. His hot breath whispered over her cheekbone. She shuddered.

Suddenly, her mind flashed with memories of seeing Cleon over the years. The same things she uncontrollably felt for Neal had faded, but she had not even noticed how strong her feeling for Cleon had grown. Thoughts of having to put up with Joren had distracted her for so long she had never even considered other matches seriously. She closed her eyes and pictured the person she knew she was, the girl that would one day become a knight. Then she pictured another girl, one who gave in to her feelings, who threw away the mask to follow a path that had been hidden in shadow before. Plenty of people had better lives for picking the sudden and unforeseen rather than holding steady to their plans. But she could not do that against all her previous commitments. There was no way she could act on these feelings.

"You'd better go."

Cleon reached out to touch her arm, but stopped short. He nodded and left.

------

Though the healer had done an excellent job, Joren did not trust healing magic and favored the injured leg to be safe. He would go back to a normal gait tomorrow when he was sure there was no tenderness to his thigh. It was such a shallow cut and even without magic, he was young and resilient. Maybe he was being overcautious, but paying attention to his health was better than paying attention to other things.

Basically, he was upset at himself for losing the match. Paxton was right. Although Sir Trevin was a great knight worthy of his country, Joren was an even match for him. He had spent a lot of time practicing since he had become a squire. Holding a sword felt natural to him. He could fight and nothing but the moment mattered. Whether he was fighting for the realm or fighting for himself made no difference. It was just the power of the blade in his hands and nothing else—no bride, no untrustworthy friends, and no politics. He wanted to be lost and that was all Joren knew.

He sat on his cot and closed his eyes. He thought about how he normally practiced. When his heart beat fast and his lungs started to burn, he felt so alive, more than he ever had been defending his father's traditions and manipulating the cronies that had attached themselves to him during his youth. When he swung a sword, he imagined he could see the tip of the blade trace a line in the air that was still visible, as if he had cut the very air itself... split it like a fabric rent in two. If he could escape through that tear and never come back, he would never have to worry about all the responsibilities he had now. And wasn't that all he really wanted? To be left alone?

"I saw your match. Such a shame. I was sure you had him. I was a bit disappointed."

The daydream fell apart. Joren stood up. Vinson had entered his tent and was casually glancing over the things that Joren had out, like the pair of breeches that had gotten cut in the match.

"I didn't see _you_ signed up."

Vinson frowned. "I'm not insulting your skill, friend. I came here to offer you an invitation to be cheered up."

"I already said no."

Vinson shrugged. "I know, but this is different from what I was offering before. For your sake, I spoke to some ladies of good birth. They would love to meet you. Just to talk."

It was a trap. More importantly, Joren knew it was a trap. But by the time he had realized it, he had lost control over his own motions and found his head nodding yes.

He made sure the tunic he had changed into was clean and followed Vinson out of the tent. Where they walked, Joren could just see where Raoul and his squire were camping. It did not look like anyone was there. He made sure to keep up with Vinson and almost trampled on his friend's heels to keep watching the tent flap. For a moment, he thought he had seen something move.

A hand grabbed the edge of the tent flap. It was not Keladry's griffin-scarred hand. Joren redirected his gaze to the back of Vinson's head. The heir to Stone Mountain knew he had changed significantly in the last few years. He was not friends with many of the boys he knew as a page and he preferred being aloof. Was it so hard to believe that Keladry could change as well? She was a young woman, not a girl. She could take a lover if it was what she wanted.

_I am being made a fool before my own wedding night._ It was a strange thought to have since he'd never even entertained the thought of actually bedding her before then. But now that what was his by obligation instead of choice was being taken from him, he felt insulted and even a little jealous. He could always assuage his pride and possibly end the engagement by exposing her indiscretion, but someone (most likely one of his former friends, Vinson included) might spread gossip of Joren's ability to keep his tomboy bride satisfied that she had to seek satisfaction somewhere else. It was not a scenario he wanted to risk.

_Forget you saw anything_, he told himself. _Walk through the tear the sword has made. Disappear._ His blue eyes seemed to glaze over, but no one was watching him to notice.

-----

Day after day of smoldering looks from Cleon made Keladry feel simultaneously guilty and exhilarated. Even as she prepared to joust, the headiness she felt was always a step away. She was surprised no one had unhorsed her yet. If she had been knocked out of her saddle, it might have done something to get her mind focused again. A fall would have been the perfect wake up call to her recent mental and emotional wanderings. At least her sense of duty drove her to help Raoul with all the interaction he had with the royals and the Yamani delegation. Tending to her birds, horses, and dog also kept her grounded in responsibility.

But when she saw Cleon enter her tent, just as he was doing right then, her resolved melted like a single flake of snow in the sun.

"Hello," Cleon said. "I know you already said..."

"No."

"No," he echoed. "No, but..."

"But?"

His embrace made it difficult to think after that. Keladry's hands were holding fistfuls of his tunic as his mouth slanted over hers and they kissed like two lovers who had done nothing but kiss for months. They were flushed tight against each other. There was his heartbeat, Keladry noticed. Her hands were shaking. His hands were tangled in her cropped hair. With every rise and fall of his chest, his lips were moving more and more, coming apart and spreading again to kiss the corners of her mouth. Her toes tingled.

His nails scratched her scalp. Keladry breathed in sharply and pulled away, suddenly wondering why she had the sudden inclination to hit him, to whet the excitement singing in her blood. The thought of punching him caused something to squeeze deliciously near her lower spine. She wanted his hands on her. Not gentle, but rough.

No. No hands. No hands but Cleon's hands. And Joren's eyes, somewhere from over her shoulder, watching.

Keladry pushed him further away. "I can't do this. It's not right."

He appeared to realize what was plaguing her. He folded his arms across his chest nervously and looked anxious as he spoke.

"Do you love him?"

She frowned. "You know I don't feel that way about him. He drives me mad."

Cleon touched her cheek, causing the tingles to resurface to the flesh on her arms and the back of her knees. "Then don't marry him."

It would be foolish and ungrateful for her not to realize there were plenty of girls out there who never had the luck to fall in love with someone who cared for them in return. But it would also be selfish of her to indulge in it. She had known this for days. The tension had built up like a gathering storm, resulting in their thunderous heartbeats so loud that they could restrain themselves no longer but crash together like they just had. It was lightning—hot and intense, bright and frightening. That was no excuse.

"It doesn't work like that. I made a promise."

She put her hand over her eyes and held on to a tent pole with the other. Big, strong arms encircled her. She felt his breath against the back of her neck. The heat against her back made her want to sink into a warm dream of cuddling Cleon next to a fire, but that could never be. Her eyes opened and she breathed in raggedly.

"Kel."

"Let me go," she whispered, though inside she was hoping he wouldn't obey. The embrace loosened enough for her to step away. She paused and thought of something else to say. Nothing came to mind that was right.

It had been an impulsive thing to do. Impulsive decisions like this had no place in her life. She had her duty to her family and now duty towards Stone Mountain to carry out what she promised to do. Cleon stood back, clearly hurt and ashamed that he had tempted her. Where were their childish days of simple smiles and neutral words? They were old enough now to be warriors of Tortall. Certainly they were old enough to love and not to love as well. Keladry left her tent.

-----

It was late when Joren returned to his tent, but Keladry was waiting for him and looked like she had been for a while. She was holding a book that Paxton had given him, one that he had not touched in months. The only way she could have found it among his things was if Paxton had shown her into the tent and pointed it out. Paxton probably had. Joren's glanced to the side as if he could see through the heavy canvas and watch his smirking knightmaster. Though the older man usually left Joren his privacy, he had been awfully assertive in his presence lately.

"What are you doing here?"

Keladry closed the book and peered past him to the rapidly darkening skies. "You were gone an awfully long time. Paxton said he had no errands for you today. And you had no matches either. I checked the lists."

Her tone was pleasant as if he'd never scowled at her a day in his life. He approached her slowly and halted when they were almost toe to toe. He could tell her that he suffered the flirtations of a pair of marriage hunting noblewomen all afternoon, but somehow he didn't think that would make her jealous.

"You didn't answer my question," he pointed out.

Keladry picked up a pair of soft leather gloves that he had not noticed before. The gloves were black and appeared to be brand new. He did not give it too much thought. His attention was fixed on the girl standing before him. She even reached for his hand and placed the gloves in his palm.

"Put them on."

"Why did you get them?

She acted as if she did not hear him. He glared at her suspiciously before beginning to tug them on.

"Do you like them? It looks like a perfect fit." Keladry turned so she leaned over his shoulder from behind and helped his hand into the glove despite the fact that he was perfectly capable of doing it himself. She laced her fingers with his and squeezed in order to make sure the glove was pulled down all the way.

Perplexed, Joren watched her switch over to the other side and put on his other glove for him. She turned his hands over in hers to inspect the craftmanship.

"Well?" she asked, looking up from where she bent over his palms.

Joren closed and opened his fists. He shrugged. "They're fine."

"Good."

"Why did you get me a gift? We never give gifts." He raised an eyebrow. "Did my mother send you something and tell you it was from me? Because you know better."

Keladry brushed her bangs from her eyes. She needed a haircut badly, he noticed. She shrugged and answered, "I just felt like it."

"That's a lie."

"It's not a lie."

"It's not the truth, that is for certain." He took off the gloves and tossed them onto his cot. "You don't look at me when you're uncertain about something."

She frowned. "I don't look at you when I ignore you, too. I don't see what's so uncertain about that."

"It's different." By the sound of his footfalls, he was moving closer. "Look at me."

The blue of his eyes were disarming. They always were, but she always tried to see something else in them: anger, disgust, disappointment. None of those things were there that time. That was her fault. He wouldn't look that way if he had a clue of what she was thinking. The icy blue had darkened, reminding her of the depths of the ocean, the rivers that flooded her home. Keladry's gaze went past him, over his shoulder where she tried to see a pair of clear gray eyes the same way she used to see Joren's eyes when she looked at Neal or Cleon. Nothing.

"Are you ill?" he asked.

Keladry laughed because she thought it would hide her feelings better than her usual stoicism with which Joren had become familiar. "That's all you can say?"

"What else am I supposed to say? You're not much my concern except that you're alive and well." He shrugged. "I wasn't going to say anything at all about how you obviously feel guilty for something, mainly because it's not my business."

"Well, it is your business." Keladry sat down on his cot and picked up the gloves. She played with the fingers and sighed. Even though she had half-talked herself out of it already, she still asked, "What if I offered you a way out of this situation?"

The silence stretched between them. This was it. If Joren wanted to take the sudden path, the one that veered off everything they had been expected to walk these past years, here was his chance. He could wander away into solitude while she walked into Cleon's embrace. Joren came over and sat on the cot next to her and took the gloves out of her hands, putting them on again. Without thinking, she reached for the bottom of one glove and tugged it down until it was snug on his hand.

He studied her for a moment then slapped her across the cheek. Keladry's head whipped to the side. Her hand flew to her face.

"What are you waiting for?" he asked. He peeled off the glove and waved it in her face from side to side. "This is what awaits you if you marry me."

Joren waited with a smug grin for Keladry to storm out of the tent. Instead she snatched the glove from his hand and slapped him with it even harder. Joren yelped and grabbed her wrist before she could do it again. Keladry moved to smack him with her other hand. He grabbed it as well and they wrestled for a few moments before Keladry shoved him back. She pointed her finger at him like it was the point of her sword.

"And that is why I'm going to marry you."

His face contorted. "_What?_"

"Who else but me could keep you in line? I owe it to whoever would marry you in my place, to keep her from suffering your ignorance and your brutishness and everything else about you that's vile!"

He cursed, stopped, then cursed again. "I should have tried to expose your affair while I still had the chance."

The triumph left her expression. "What?"

"If you spend any more time in this tent, your lover will think you've cuckolded him with me," Joren said with a wink, glancing over his shoulder.

Keladry turned away. "It's nothing like that."

"You kissed someone, you tart," he teased. "Your lower lip is puffy. He favors it."

She covered her mouth. Instead of seeing anger or disdain in his expression, there was nothing but a slight quirk to his lips. This, here, this gloating reprehensible young man was her future if she chose to stay. She gave him a scathing look before leaving. Joren settled down on his cot, more satisfied than if he'd won his duel. In a way, he had.

-----

The next night, she waited in Cleon's tent after she made sure no one had seen her enter. It was such a strange thing to do, to have all these serious conversations with men she had never thought about romantically for a good chunk of the time she had known them. When Cleon returned, his eyes lit up and he thought that she had chosen him already. He did not think anything of the unreadable expression on her face.

"You're not marrying him?"

Keladry calmed herself with deep breathing. "Believe me, I would rather not."

"Then you're writing to your parents to reconsider the engagement?"

"I have no dowry. He paid a bride price for me. Who else with means would do that? The marriage must take place."

He almost startled her when he rushed forward and clasped her hands to his chest. She could feel his heartbeat again and he knew it. Temptation heated the center of her chest like a hot stone had been placed on her skin. She gently removed her hands from his grasp and began pacing in the small space of the tent. Anything to calm her and keep her good sense present. Cleon, who must have realized he was rapidly losing her, groaned and stretched out his hand towards her.

"Look Kel! Instead of marrying him, you can marry me. My family does have some money, you know. If you have to marry..."

She stopped in her tracks and turned around. She looked at him as if he had said something foul.

"Why would I _have _to marry anyone?" she snapped. "I may marry by obligation or I may not marry by preference. I'm not some court lady defined by marriage. I shall be a knight."

Naturally, Cleon backpedaled. "I didn't mean to say that. I was just saying that it's an alternative solution for your situation."

"Solution?" she echoed incredulously. He meant well, she knew. Yet her voice grew more shrill and she could not stop herself. "Marriage to someone else is just another solution? And here I thought some people married for love."

"Kel! You know that's not what I meant to..."

"Even if it's not, I don't think I'm anywhere near ready for marriage to anyone. If I can avoid it, I will. But we both know the situation there."

She sighed when he saw how hurt Cleon looked. What had she done? When had she ever gotten visibly angry? And now during the first time she had unleashed her pent up frustrations, it was on the wrong person.

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

"I understand." He took a deep breath and smiled as best as he could. "You'll always be very important to me, you do know that?"

She nodded.

He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. His lips lingered there for the length of a sigh before he pulled away. She left for her own tent, feeling less whole than she had been that morning. It was long after most people would be asleep, but she could not bring herself to lie down and close her eyes.

When she arrived, she lit a candle and went over her jousting equipment. Her fingers probed her lance and padding. She held out her hands when she could no longer distract herself with maintenance, then touched her forefingers to her thumbs in a meditative pose. Nothing. Her restlessness stayed. So she did the only thing she could do.  
-----

Joren slept lightly. He always had. He slept lightly enough that his body startled when he heard someone turn aside his tent flap. His thoughts were too sleep-muddled for him to form a plan of action, but his hand was already on a knife he kept near his person.

The intruder paused after the tent flap dropped again.

"It's me. Don't attack."

Joren groaned quietly and propped himself up on his elbows. "Keladry? What in the world are you doing?"

A pair of hands touched his chest, then spider-walked up his body until they framed his face.

His tongue was thick and heavy in his mouth as he spoke. "What are you doing?"

Suddenly he could feel the heat of her breath from her nose as she pressed forward. Small lips pressed against his. Without thinking his mouth moved to match hers. The smell of soap and something like flowers but not quite filled his nose. It wasn't how he expected her to smell like. His mind caught up with his body and he quickly shoved her away.

He furiously whispered, "What's wrong with you? Have you gone _mad_?"

"Don't talk."

Her weight pressed him back down again. Hands moved down his neck and he could feel the heat of her breath again on his cheek. Joren grabbed her hair and jerked her head back.

"I don't know what game you're playing and neither do you. Stop it."

She dug her nails into his wrist as she tried to free herself. "Or what?"

As Joren pushed her back, he snarled. His foot moved behind hers and yanked. Down she went. He crouched over her. With her free hand, she punched him. Joren let go and stumbled back. What was she playing at, throwing herself at him like a whore, then throwing him off? He reached for his knife again. His mother be damned. Nothing could prevail upon him to marry this girl.

Before he could recover, Keladry was up again and grabbing his shirt. She pulled him down once more. Still off balance, he had no choice but to fall again. He braced himself on his hands, his knees on either side of her legs.

"Don't talk," she hissed. She grabbed his hand and forced it to her breast. His palm brushed the fabric of her shirt, felt the softness underneath.

In the darkness, he couldn't see her eyes. Slowly he moved his hand from her chest up to her face. His fingertips ghosted over her cheeks up to her eyelids. No tears. She was asking this of him without holding anything back. Why in the world she would choose him of all people, he didn't know. He wanted to call her a whore and shove off. Again she stopped him, held him tight like he was the rope and she was hanging over the cliff.

Her teeth were sharp on his lip. He grunted and fisted his hand in her hair, yanking a second time. The action didn't stop her by retaliating. Her nails scraped his skin as she wildly pulled at his shirt. The boldness of her actions made him angry. He wanted to show her what a mistake she was making. Perhaps she would even cry. Then he could feel the tears on his fingertips and sneer at her. Call her a whore. Spit on her.

They said nothing to each other. There on the ground their clothes made for poor bedding. The rocks dug into their backs and their legs. None of what they did was smooth or comfortable as Joren refused to let her forget who he was just because there was no light. He touched her with rough hands and she gave it all right back. Nothing but hisses and gasps and seeing how far either of them could sink until the point when she bit his shoulder and was not gentle about it. Neither was he. But she should have known better and he wasn't ever going to let her forget what game she had started. He thrust in a hard steady rhythm until she stopped squeezing his arms so hard. When he started to slow, she squeezed again and growled even though she must still have been hurting.

The tent was filled with the quiet sound of movement and repetitive shifting of cloth and flesh.

With a grunt, he brought himself to a finish and rolled to the side. Keladry shifted tentatively. She stifled a whimper as she tried to shift her hips. Everything between her thighs felt raw.

"I would have gone easier but you were so insistent on not giving a damn," he said in a flat voice.

"I don't give a damn."

He wiped the sweat from his brow. "Neither do I."


	4. Part I cont'd

Disclaimer: Protector of the Small is the property of Tamora Pierce. Please don't sue me. I just got laid off and I have zero money. There may be two short quoted passages down the line but they will be pretty obvious from the book. Thank ya.

Author's note: From here on out, things get a bit intense. There will be a full explanation at the start of Part III. Also: I'm in the middle of a move and I won't have internet for a week or so. Depending on where I _can _get internet, you may get another chapter before then. Probably not, as I'll be starting a small part-time job to battle this "no money" situation. 

Thanks- Sulia.

P.S. Didn't know that many of you disliked Cleon. Kick ass.

Continuation of Part I.

The next day, he tried to forget the line they had crossed. He could still feel her hot body beneath his, the sadness, the shame, and the fury that saturated their flesh. It would have been different if she'd cried. He would have laughed at her and then maybe later vomit in the bushes. She'd fought back, refused to let him go. That had spurred him on. She hadn't cried. No tears, just a concentrated formula of stubbornness mixed with grief and frustration. Joren wanted to pass it off as a silly dream. Or a nightmare.

That was until he saw his future bride come toward him in a green dress the next day. The dress was nothing too fancy, but it was easy to tell that the quality was very good. If he remembered correctly, her former maid had become a dressmaker. As many and as good friends Keladry had made, it would not surprise him that she had a friend for every need--from clothing to weapons. He had noticed she had an extremely expensive dagger at her belt. He had never asked where she had acquired it. Even in a dress, it hung by her side.

"Why do you look like a lady?" Joren asked suspiciously.

His betrothed gave him an innocent look. "I've spent most this Progress tilting against other knights in the lists. I'd like to spend one moment looking like someone's future wife than someone everyone has to challenge until their backs are in the dust." She studied him. "Why don't you joust?"

"And eventually be dared to go up against you? I'll keep the sword in my hand. You can keep the lance." Joren sighed. "I'm off to observe the matches."

She surprised him by taking his arm. "I'll go with you."

He didn't miss a beat. "Who are you and what have you done with the girl?"

"Just let me do this, will you?"

The only time, Joren believed, people looked as Keladry looked just then, was when they were trying to surmount their regret by pushing off drastically in the opposite direction from what they regretted. If last night was any indication, then this was most certainly what had happened. Keladry wearing a nice dress, letting herself latch onto his arm, was obviously one of those attempts to drive her bad thoughts away. He cursed himself, for last night's events had made an impression on him. Instead of the athleticism he usually observed in the girl, all he could imagine was the softness and the not-quite- flowers smell of her. Needless to say, it was distracting. He'd made a terrible mistake.

"Well, alright. But don't make me nauseous with any behavior of ladylike delicacy. Won't work on you."

She kept a straight face but pinched his arm. That was better.

They walked together to the area set aside for dueling and sat down on a raised set of benches that had been constructed for spectators. Joren even made a show of holding her hand as they climbed up to the top bench. Somewhere near the corner of his vision a pair of men were talking, no doubt noticing the ladylike behavior the girl squire was displaying. Joren turned his attention to the combatants getting ready, but kept an eye out for anyone that might want to approach them. He wouldn't put it past any troublemakers to see Keladry in a dress and still challenge her to a duel anyway. The thought of them both being defeated on the Progress made him a little sick.

Suddenly, Keladry's body tensed beside him. He followed her gaze and caught a glimpse of curly red hair on a big young man who was passing by the dueling area.

"Something the matter?" he asked.

"No."

Joren breathed out evenly through his nostrils. Somehow, he'd always known that it wouldn't be Queenscove. He licked his lips. "Have you seen many of our age mates around?"

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

Keladry looked at him severely. "Don't say anything that will make me want to kill you."

His lower lip twitched. "...For how long?"

-----

Three nights later she came again looking for a fight and he was waiting for her. She punched him again. His nose seemed to explode with pain. He called her a bitch before he decided he preferred his violence productive over pointless. So he leaned forward and continued where they left off. His hands found her waist. Their breathing quickened. Keladry balked at first before starting to struggle with his belt. He had his shirt off and was cruelly biting her nipple through fabric before she could stop him. In retaliation she squeezed his manhood too tightly. He bit back a scream and pushed her down.  
He stroked her until the moisture had gathered, then slid in effortlessly. She gasped right against his ear. It had hurt before, but now it seemed to fill and stretch her in an almost relaxing way. She had just started to let the tension out of her muscles when he put his arms around her and rolled. The world turned on its head.

Keladry found herself at a loss looking down at him. He smirked back at her. He thought, if she insisted on these games, she was going to actively participate. He bucked his hips and hoarsely commanded her to ride.

She moved experimentally. It wasn't any riding she had ever done before. He threw up his hips again, driving his hard length through to sensitive spots she hadn't realized she'd had. Then again, their last encounter was nothing but the awkward pain of breaking maidenhood.  
They kept a breakneck pace, his nails digging into her hips and muttering obscenities at her- was a whore like her supposed to be this tight? She whispered how much she hated him and despised him, the shame in her eyes telling him that she was repulsed at her own actions. She wanted to punch him again. His perfect little nose was already swelling, blossoming black and blue with blood dripping from one nostril. Her hands had done that, crafted that work of art. For a bastard like him, it was an improvement.  
She should stop. Run, before she destroyed herself and him. Keladry could only imagine the sickening pride it gave him to witness the fall of the upright and courageous squire.  
She arched her back as she came. She bent over and pressed her forehead to his sweaty neck.  
"I think you broke my nose," he said as an afterthought.  
Keladry huffed. The sweat on their bodies cooled before they moved apart.

-----

The Progress returned to the Palace for Midwinter. That meant that Keladry would be around to see Joren go through the Ordeal. It also meant she might run into Cleon again. After she had rejected the redhead, they had kept their distance from each other. She wished things could go back to the way they used to be and they could just talk. But she knew that was impossible. Still, she prayed to the gods to watch over Cleon when it was his turn for the Ordeal.

For all her worrying, he exited the Chamber whole and unharmed, though thoroughly shaken. She was there to see him emerge, but made sure to stay toward the back of the room. Ermelian of Aminar and Cleon's parents congratulated him. Ermelian was beautiful and dark haired, well-mannered and graceful—a perfect bride. Keladry had already heard about the strong likelihood that they would enter an engagement of their own. Keladry knew Cleon would get along without her.

The sparrows and Jump were happy to be on familiar territory once again. That day she lay on her bed with Jump curled up beside her and listened to the soft chatter of the sparrows as they hopped from the edge of her bed to the windowsill, and back to her bed again.

That day was also Joren's last day as a squire. She had supped with Joren earlier, the first time she had sought him out since their last regrettable encounter. She offered to keep him company until it was time for his chapel vigil. Perhaps they could spar. He refused her then. The heir to Stone Mountain insisted he didn't need support like some silly girl. It should have offended her, but she knew he was too proud to admit that he was nervous. All the pride and snobbery in the world couldn't hide a squire's fear in the time before his Ordeal.

Though he had said no, she still followed him from the dining room.

"Go already, you stupid whore," he said, spinning around to face her in the hall.

A sharp retort was forming in her mind, but his hand on her wrist stopped her. His gaze focused on the wall, but he was clearly speaking to her.

"Follow me."

He steered them back down the hall. Keladry reluctantly trailed after him. They ran into no one, reminding Keladry of what opportunities they'd taken in the past to attack each other. No witnesses meant inexplicable bruises later for Neal to cluck over. But somehow she knew it wouldn't come to that again, not fists and only fists. When they stopped in front of a large heavy door, she realized that they were back at their classrooms. Joren opened the door and beckoned her inside. His expression was unfathomable.

As soon as she was across the threshold, he carefully shut the door behind her. They still hadn't looked each other in the eye. Keladry couldn't stop the uncomfortable feeling wending its way up from her toes and wrapping itself like ribbons around her thighs. When he finally turned, she recognized the shine in them. The darkening of the blue irises.

She stepped back. "We're in a _classroom!_"

"Yes," he replied. He came up close to her. One hand tangled itself in the tunic near her waist. "And that over there is a large desk."

A panicked voice inside her wanted to yell that they weren't on the Progress anymore. And yes, she'd started it, but this wasn't what she wanted. It was supposed to be a bad dream. But it wasn't as if either of them could forget. Not with the rest of their miserable lives ahead of them. Together.

"Do you want me to make it easy for you?" His hot breath tickled the fine hairs on her ear.

After a pause, she nodded.

He punched her in the gut. Air rushed out of her lungs as she doubled over. Keladry wrapped her arms around herself. Joren waited placidly. When she recovered, Keladry kicked him hard in the kneecap. She wanted nothing more to break his nose again, but he had an Ordeal to look forward to. The last thing they needed was for someone to ask questions.

As Joren hopped back, putting all his weight on his good knee, Keladry launched herself forward. Suddenly his arms were full of Keladry, who had wrapped her legs around his waist and thrown her arms around his neck. The blond squire was forced to put his other leg down, his knee screaming pain as he held her up. Her plan all along, the little witch.

He called her a cow as he staggered over to the desk. She was not bigger than him. He could have handled her just fine if he didn't feel like his right leg wanted to give out. He dumped her on the desk and tried to force back the tears of pain gathering at the corner of his eyes.

This time with him in control, Joren dragged out the length of their encounter to new self-loathing records. Between the second and third orgasm, Keladry wondered if it was because he actually feared this might be his last day alive.

-----

After feeding her animals later that evening, Keladry decided it would be thoughtful of her to visit Lady Einsrell.

The widow was holding a vigil of her own. The woman dressed in white and cream with her hair unbound. Keladry had the feeling that this was as exposed as she would ever see the woman and wondered if it was too late to excuse herself. Lady Einsrell welcomed her in with all the grace of a queen and invited Keladry to sit down at the table with her. White candles were lit all around a table on which a heavy book rested, heavy enough that Keladry thought she might kill someone if it were dropped from the top of the Palace wall. It was bound in dark leather and embossed with the device of Stone mountain: a black chevron against a slate blue field with a gray border, cut through the middle with a sword pointed down with thorns wrapped around the hilt. Einsrell opened it to where a cloth marker of blue green was wedged.

"These are the pages of your generation," Einsrell explained. "Joren and his cousins are recorded here: their births, their deaths, their titles and honors... our legacy." She pointed to the bottom where there was still room. "When you are married, your name will be listed there along with your honors, of which I expect there to be plenty."

After hearing Joren discourse in great length about how manipulative his mother could be on the one occasion Keladry had asked him about his family, it was not without reason that Keladry doubted any sincerity. She was another appendage to Einsrell's family now, there to bring them honor and service. She put her hands in her lap and bowed her head towards her future mother-in-law. "I shall do my best to please you, mylady."

Keladry's family probably had something like this book, yet she couldn't imagine her life scrawled out in a few spare sentences. Daughter of Piers and Ilane. Seventh child.

"When Joren is knighted," Einsrell continued, "he will ascend to the seat of Stone Mountain that I have held for him. He was legally the Lord of Stone Mountain the moment his father passed on, but since he was still in training, he permitted me to hold stewardship until the right time came. When he is lord, there will be more responsibility for you both and I expect you to take it as seriously as your knighthood."

"I shall. I promise."

"You'll have to spend some time at home and learn to run the fief. I will join my husband eventually. I need to make sure you can do the job properly before I die."

"As you wish," Keladry replied, though inside she was panicking. How had the Lioness handled it? Traveling with the King's Own guard had taught her life in the saddle. Months on end wandering Stone Mountain's cold halls would be torture for her, especially without any friends.

Einsrell placed her hand on the page that was waiting for history to be made. "You may keep a vigil with me or go back to your rooms. It matters not. He will emerge tomorrow triumphant."

It would have been polite to stay, but Keladry could tell Einsrell did not care for her company. Keladry couldn't say that she cared much for the older woman's company either. The mother's torso was a rigid line parallel to the chair's back and her shadowed eyes were fixed on the family tome spread before them. If this family expected her to become like that statue of a woman, it was destined for disappointment.

Keladry thanked Einsrell for her time and wished her good night.

Back in her room, Keladry worked figures at her desk—logistical sums for supplying armies. She could tell Raoul was grooming her for command, but she still couldn't imagine any squads following her orders alone. If it came true, that achievement ought to be big enough for that family book. Her entry might even outshine Joren's place.

Joren was, as she had gathered over the years, prone to seek out solitude and only do what was required of him and never more. These qualities had first been masked by his need to show off his superiority to his then friends. Now the troubled youth acted sometimes acted if he'd been cheated even though he was privileged. He craved freedom as if he didn't have more freedom than the common man in the lower districts of Corus.

Despite his skewed view of himself, he was not without merit. Joren had the makings of a great swordsman. He also proved he could lead selfish arrogant people who would otherwise fend for themselves. That group had been a herd of pages. The future knights of the realm, but still just boys then. Maybe he had the makings of a leader as well, but not the kind of leader that Raoul pegged her as.

It was late enough that her eyes strained to read. Keladry prepared herself for bed and thought that Joren might already be in the chapel, bathing and listening to the ritual instructions from Paxton and his uncle.

She remembered the visions of being a desk knight that Keladry had seen before she became Raoul's squire. The phantom ink stains on her hands had bothered her for weeks still. She could not even begin to imagine what else the Chamber of the Ordeal could do once someone entered it.

Her mind fixated on the possibilities even after she fell asleep.

_The sound of her front door smashing open woke her._

_"Bitch!" a man screamed. _

_..._

_"Trollop, you killed my boy!" _

_..._

_The door to Raoul's chambers sprang open. Raoul was in his loincloth, holding his unsheathed sword. Buri, clad only in a blanket, stood at his elbow, a dagger in her free hand. _

_..._

_"My lord of Stone Mountain, you forget yourself... If you try to carry out your threats, I will break your jaw."_

_"He is distraught," the woman said, her voice breaking. "My lord, please, Burchard is out of his mind with grief."_

_"My nephew is dead... The Chamber of the Ordeal opened on his corpse."_

_"Joren? Dead?" whispered Kel, horrified._

_..._

_"He was to be the greatest of us," Burchard whispered. "Mylord Wyldon said, after that first year, he was the most promising lad he'd seen." His eyes were adder-poisonous as he looked at Kel. "Jumped-up merchant slut," he whispered. "He was never the same after you arrived. Never. You witched him, cursed him - " _

Keladry did not know she had screamed until Raoul and Buri rushed into her room, dressed in loincloth and blanket so much like her dream that she wondered if she was still asleep. Buri tugged her blanket closer around herself and went to Keladry's side, reaching up to touch the girl's face. Keladry realized she was crying.

"What's wrong?" Buri asked softly.

"I...I dreamed he was dead." Keladry wiped her tears off with the sleeve of her bedclothes. Years of Yamani training helped her get herself under control. She was breathing calmly within moments while Raoul and Buri continued to watch her.

"I'm alright," she insisted. "It was just a dream."

Raoul looked at the rosy rays peeking through Keladry's window curtains. "We will get dressed and go to the chapel."

Keladry nodded. Buri squeezed her shoulder. When the couple had retreated to Raoul's suite, Keladry fell back onto her bed and waited for her cheeks to dry.

------

_Ice and white_

_The day his father died_

_There the funeral_

_There his family, draped in night_

_Azure eyes hard like stone_

_Watching him sit on Burchard's bones_

_There his wife_

_As muscle and metal sitting tall in her saddle_

_Waving goodbye as she rode off to battle_

_While he tended books and ledgers_

_Ink on his fingers_

_Screaming dirty children around him_

_Pawing for his attention, his gold, his death_

_So they can slaughter each other to see_

_Who shall sit on his bones next_

_Arms too atrophied to hold a sword aloft_

_All he wants is silence_

_And a meaningful death_

_He cannot wait to see his wife's face again_

_If only to beg her to swing her ax_

_End his pain, this blighting constance_

_He dies with a bag of money in his frail hand_

_There his cold body and his widow on her horse_

When he left the Chamber of the Ordeal, they were waiting. His mother appeared very proud—more like approving—but he was distracted by how relieved Keladry looked. Her hazel eyes looked at him like she had not seen him in months. She stood there in a slate blue shawl over a silvery gray dress hemmed in black (Stone Mountain colors, he never thought he would ever see them on her) as if she were a dainty lady of the court, waiting for her man to pull through. She kept her distance even as Joren was congratulated by Paxton and the other people who surrounded him. All he could do was try not to shake to pieces and breathe out frosted air.

He nodded stiffly to the congratulations that seemed to make their way to him in the fog he was still lost in. His mother gripped his wrist tightly and spoke to his knightmaster. Her hand felt like cold marble. He started shivering, but tried to control himself, to make it look like he was just shaken up from his Ordeal. Paxton was holding Joren steady by his arm and leading him toward the door. Still, Joren's eyes kept searching Keladry out as he departed. There she was, smiling. There, face blank. And again... but this time, not looking at him at all. Then there she was once more, and he thought she was wearing her own armor already and waiting on him to come greet her after her return from war.

He let Paxton lead him away to get cleaned up and tried to get the odd images out of his head.

"I need to see her," he rasped to his mentor.

Paxton frowned. "What?"

"I need to see her alone," Joren repeated.

"Ah," Paxton said when he followed his squire's gaze. "I'll send for her."

------

He still hadn't dressed when she entered his chambers. His shirt was off and he was holding a washcloth loosely in one hand that rested on his knee. Joren did not even notice that she had arrived. Keladry cleared her throat.

"Come here," he commanded.

She went forward in three fluid strides and knelt by him to look up into his face.

"Congratulations. You did well...my lord." That's what he was now, wasn't he? Lord of Stone Mountain. The words sounded hollow to her, but she did not know what else to say. He stared at her like he was staring at some creature who did not know how to speak Common. His gaze drifted away again, toward the floor. He seemed far away, as if his mind was still inside the Chamber.

"Did you dream last night?" he asked.

Keladry paused. "I did."

"About me."

She paused. "Yes, about you."

"Was I dead?"

His question made her shiver. The gods had a hand in this, she knew. She had no idea why they might, but their presence, no matter how indirect, felt like cold ghostly fingers combing through her flesh. Joren looked at her when she did not answer.

"I feel dead," Joren whispered. He closed his hands and opened them again, spreading out his fingers. "I'm frozen through and through."

Keladry touched his arm. Ice. She took the washcloth off his knee and went over to the basin of water. The water had just stopped steaming, but she found it was warm enough when she dipped in her hand and moistened the cloth. She picked up a blanket from his bed and threw it around him. He did not stop her. She knelt in front of him again and wiped his sweaty brow with the cloth. Her palms covered his clammy cheeks to share the heat from her body. Should she alert Sir Paxton or Lady Einsrell? Keladry did not feel confident in leaving Joren the way he was even for a moment.

"Still cold?" she asked gently, as if he were a child.

Joren did not respond, but closed his eyes. Keladry rose up on her knees and slipped her arms underneath the blanket and around his torso. His blanket closed around them both. His skin was smooth, but cold like some poor traveler found in the road in the winter, frozen to death at night. They stayed that way for a few more moments while Keladry rubbed her hands up and down his smooth planes of his back until she could feel the warmth returning to his body. Such close bodily contact made her feel awkward, but she was more concerned with Joren's wellbeing than any problems either of them had about intimacy. This was the first time they had ever held each other without inflicting pain. Alien was not the word to describe it. It didn't come close.

"I am a knight," she heard him whisper. "And I am not dead."

Keladry shook her head and watched her breath unsettle wisps of his blond hair. "No. You are not dead. You passed the test."

"You would be free of me if I were dead," he remarked after a few more moments. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but did not elaborate.

"I would not prefer a world where you were dead, even if you do vex me," she replied.

"You say that _now_..."

The acid in his tone let her know that he had come out of the fog, so she did not feel too bad about pinching him in his side as hard as she could. It helped the pink return to his skin anyway.

They celebrated with a private dinner in a townhouse of his family's remaining friends. Joren received a new saddle and tack from Keladry's family, high quality leatherwork and tanning. After the last few years, he was due for new equipment. It was thoughtful and practical, which was the only kind of gift he could tolerate. His knightmaster gave him a marvelous sword. It was not from Raven Armory as Keladry's dagger was, but it was still a great sword with a wire wrapped hilt patterned a little to look like the thorns on his family crest. His favorite bit was the sword's steel; it looked like it would sing sharp in battle.

His mother, in typical fashion, gave him depressing advice to remind him she would rather have him home with that sword kept silent in its sheath.

She handed him his father's ring. Joren had always known he would one day wear the onyx and sapphire mounted on gold, but he did not think he would wear it so young. The dark brown onyx surrounded the sapphire, a counterpart to the heavy ring his mother wore on her hand. One day, Keladry would be asked to wear that as well.

Lady Einsrell placed both hands on his shoulders and looked at him like a priestess about to bestow a blessing. "You become Lord of Stone Mountain now. I hold it no longer for you. Act like a lord. Act like a knight of the greatest kingdom of the world. Make decisions without fear and remember your father. Remember his folly."

"And here I was expecting a kind word about him," he snorted.

She poked him hard in the chest. "Learn what will help Stone Mountain and forget everything your father did. Weather the cursed changes ahead of us."

Einsrell's eyes looked like that of a prophet, unfocused but bright. She kissed him with cold lips on the cheek—the first he had received since he was a boy. He looked at her mistrustfully. She went to start a conversation with his uncle, Arlen. The musicians that his mother had hired struck up a new song and Einsrell let her brother lead her in a dance.

"What did she say to you?" Kel asked when she rejoined him. She took his arm under the watchful gaze of Einsrell and accompanied him through his mingling.

"The usual _I'm so proud of you_ and _if only your father were alive_ sort of speech."

"Really?"

"Of course not. You know my mother."

Arm in arm, they turned at the sound of a high squeal behind them. Across the room, Joren noticed Raoul slide down in his seat a bit further and grimace. Probably one of Raoul's past matchmaking disasters. A woman greeted the young pair with the biggest display of fake enthusiasm either of them had seen all day. The woman was robust, robust being the tactful word, and had a small beauty mark on her left cheek. She giggled and the couple immediately cringed.

"Oh, how big and strong you have become since I last saw you. Your mother must be so proud." She winked, long lashes and all.

Joren and Keladry exchanged glances with slightly widened eyes. _Who is this woman?_ they asked each other silently. Keladry's nails dug into his arm and he nudged her slightly until her grip relaxed.

"And now you ascend to the seat of Lord of Stone Mountain. Certainly your wedding will be soon to follow?"

"Actually," Keladry cut in. "I will be earning my shield first."

They had two years to go then. Three, if he could help it. Joren cataloged the information for later.

The woman cooed as if humoring a small child. "Of course. What an interesting wife you'll make."

Keladry laughed politely. "Interesting! I hope so."

The woman caught sight of Raoul and waved. In reaction to this, Keladry's large knightmaster tried unsuccessfully to hide behind Buri and failed as the woman approached them with the same high-pitched sound as before. Joren and Keladry stared after her in disbelief. A few more moments passed and their thoughts were able to return to the same circling miseries. She let go of his arm.

"It won't be right away, will it? A Midwinter wedding right after I'm knighted? I'll want to go out... to do some good. I want to help people."

"No cause for worry. We'll postpone until we can postpone no longer," Joren assured her. For once, they both wanted the same thing and it was an odd feeling to be sharing the same anxiety.

"Three months," came Einsrell's voice behind them. They spun around. His mother continued, "I've spoken to your parents, Keladry. Plans have been made. In the spring as soon as the roads are passable again, we'll have the wedding."

She gave them a cold look and sashayed away.

Keladry glanced around her. "I didn't even hear her come up on us. She'd make a fine assassin, your mother."

"Who's to say she isn't already? That woman will be the end of us, trust me. When she finally croaks, we'll be doing a dance over her gra—ow!"

She pinched him. As much as she was doing that to him those days, it still surprised him every time. Meditating used to be her reaction to his baiting; now she wouldn't stand for his behavior and was sure to let him know.

"Don't speak about your mother like that. I'm certain underneath it all she's a good woman."

"Where have you been? She's a cold calculating harpy who's been focusing on getting me to this point of my life since I was the day I was born, and no amount of trying was ever going to set me free from her plans. Trust me." He looked at the ring on his left hand. How heavy it weighed.

------

The same evening, he'd left a note tucked into the back of her dress to come see him. She'd deliberated on whether to go for a long time before she accidentally heard Buri's voice in the room next door. Embarrassed for being able to hear them, she left. Keladry should have gone to the libary. Or to Yuki's room. She didn't think about that option until later, but it was too late.

Hours later they lay languidly in his bed. The candle had burned down to a stub that was threatening to tip over with the weight of gathered wax droplets on one side. Keladry repeatedly glanced at the door. She kept expecting to see Burchard burst through the door like he had in her dream. Calling her horrible things in her son's voice, the way Joren had but a few moments ago. What was she doing here? Her stomach turned.  
The blood tasted metallic in Joren's mouth. He touched a finger to his bleeding lower lip, cautiously running the tip of his tongue along the injured part. His racing heart had finally resumed normal pace and he felt like he would fall asleep at any moment if not for the single bright thought holding his mind captive.

Joren stared at the ceiling as he said, "It feels good to be alive."

Keladry reached for her shirt. Old bruises were so dark against the rest of her skin. Bruises from just yesterday. She cleared her throat.

"I think we should stop this."

He rolled onto his side and propped his head up on his palm. "You do know that we'll be married eventually and this will be expected."

"I wasn't talking altogether. I meant... _this_." Here she pointed to his lip. "This has gone too far. This isn't how..."

"Touch me."

His unpremeditated command startled both of them. She stared at him. He cleared his throat.

"Touch me without hurting me and tell me what you're thinking."

She hesitantly reached out and cupped his face. Her thumb strayed toward his red lip but stopped short.

"So?" he asked, his mouth quirked on one side in that usual infuriating way when he thought he was right.

Keladry withdrew her hand and scowled. "I want to slap that look off your face."

"Exactly my point." And here he licked the blood off his lip again. It stung, but it was worth it to see the revulsion cross her expression. She began to pick up her other garments. He thought to pull her back, but let her dress. Watched her go.

------

When the Progress resumed, Joren went back to Stone Mountain to get his new affairs into order. He rejoined the traveling court when it went to Mindelan in the summer, close to Keladry's seventeenth birthday in time to join the private gathering for friends and family. Despite Joren's baiting looks, Keladry managed to ignore him to focus on spending time with her brothers and sisters. The pair separated without any further encounters when the Progress split up in the following autumn. It wasn't until after the Progress ended at midwinter that they reunited and once again Keladry allowed for no opportunity for them to be alone. The months had spread between them and their abhorrence of each other seemed to die in direct proportion to their long separation.

Joren planned to dodge more time at Stone Mountain and expected to be posted at a fort near the border to deal with bandits and raiders, but the appointment never came. Joren wrote a letter to Keladry about it, which she received in Corus while the Third Company was resupplying to head up north in February. He suspected that his mother had sent a few letters out to important people she knew in the military hierarchy to intercept all his attempts to receive an assignment. Joren was not a second son whose family would face no consequences if he was killed. He would probably not get the assignment he wanted until he had secured an heir, angering him to no end—enough to even inspire him to vent his fury to her of all people. The alternative was for him to write to scheming family members or his former friends who still held grudges against him, so Keladry was not particularly flattered.

Keladry did not think his situation was fair. The realm needed every sword that pledged service and Joren was not an exception. She casually made mention of it to Raoul to see what he thought. Her knightmaster must have said something to the right person because Joren's next letter simply stated he would not be able write another letter since he would be at Fort Steadfast, which was better than being at Stone Mountain by far. The Own would travel through the fort anyway when it headed up north to the border to help bolster the defenses, so she could listen to his undeserved smugness then.

However, when Scanran attacks increased, Keladry ended up facing the kraken before she even got anywhere near Joren again. She only had time to send a letter to him in September to say she would probably see him in Midwinter before her Ordeal. She had hardly seen Neal or her other friends in all this time. Though a friendship had developed with Dom, Neal's cousin, and the rest of the Third Company, there were some things that Keladry could not speak to them about. She was embarrassed to admit that she believed Joren would understand better, even if he offered nothing nice to anything she ever said. Worse yet were the propositions he suggested instead.

Keladry busied herself helping Princess Shinkokami plan her wedding and helping the Own gather recruits. She also stopped in to see Lalasa, who fretted over the state of Keladry's clothing. The seamstress did not stop there, but also promised to make Keladry a wedding dress.

"No, I couldn't. You have so much business as it is. You'll be too busy," Keladry protested.

Her former maid still managed to look like she knew what was better for Keladry when she put her hands on her hips.

"I shall not hear another word. I am making your dress and that is final! Even that future husband of yours won't be able to take his pretty eyes off you."

Keladry quelled the surge of discomfort. She forced herself to chuckle. "Joren? I wouldn't wager on it."

"We'll see."

"I'd rather worry about this winter before I worry about this spring," Keladry stated, remembering the Chamber. She had not been back to the chapel yet. She did not know if it was a good idea to return yet again. After her last visits to the chapel and seeing what the Ordeal did to Joren, she really should have been warned away from testing herself again. Her greatest test would come soon enough.

------

Time passed far too quickly for her. December came, two years since Joren was knighted. The trickster gods were breathing down her neck when Neal's name came up first and Keladry's name came up last. By then, Joren had come to Corus and he was snickering quietly in the background when the announcements were made. The following days became a constant struggle with frayed nerves. Keladry kept her own vigils with her friends as they took their turns facing one of their greatest fears. Joren kept to himself with the excuse that none of her friends would welcome his company at so tense a time. Keladry could not argue with that, though she made him dine with them when they ate at the Palace with threats of telling his mother how unsupportive he was. It was a minor distraction to see him in a constant glaring contest with her friends.

At last, her turn came. Keladry visited Lalasa in the morning and admired the dress that Lalasa had her try on. It was a whispery silver affair with a neckline that flirted with the edges of her shoulders. The skirt fell in sweeping lines to the floor and seemed to take inches off Keladry's waist. Lalasa was truly gifted. The women hugged and Lalasa said she would start making new tunics in Mindelan and Stone Mountain colors based on her last measurements. Reminding her that there was a wedding and a life after today helped Keladry think there was going to be a future for her. The Ordeal lost some of its ominous presence in her mind, but did not disappear entirely.

In the afternoon, she went for a ride and fed her animals. When the time came for her to go, she couldn't lock the door on them. Instead, she brought them with her all the way to Joren's room.

He opened the door, looked down at the confused dog with one good ear, and felt the air stir by a family of sparrows flying past his ears.

"You're joking."

"I would be, but Neal and Yuki are out. Please just stay with them so they calm down. They can't be worried about me if they're pestering you."

Joren grimaced. "Your logic seems to benefit everyone but me."

She whispered to the sparrows, who chirped balefully and alighted on his shoulders. Joren made another face and snapped, "You had better get out of that Chamber and come back and get them. They'll blame me if you never come back. I'd rather not have 'died from bird pecking' in my death entry in the family book. Stupid chit!"

It was as close to a wish of "good luck" as she was ever going to get from him, so she nodded and departed. Had she looked over her shoulder, she would have seen Joren's curious stare, which remained fixed on her until she was out of sight.

_You'll do, a cold, whispering voice said somewhere between the inside of her ears and her mind. You'll do quite nicely._

She exited the Chamber with not so much as a tremor to her body, but a new look of resolve on her face. The room was filled with applause and her expression broke into a happier one ready to greet her loved ones. Even Joren clapped, but let the crowding of her friends and family hold up as a pretense for not congratulating her in public. Later after Keladry was knighted, she went to get dressed for their celebration. Not too long after, Raoul approached him and pointed with a thumb over his shoulder.

"She'd like to speak to you."

He went with half the room's eyes following his movement toward the door. The same thing had probably happened at his Ordeal when Keladry had been asked to see him. No doubt half the silly idiots thought he was going to "congratulate" her in ways that could not be done in public. Maybe later. He started thinking of what would knock her down a peg.

He rapped on her door and leaned against the frame for her to answer.

"Come in," she said. She was already dressed in a tunic of Mindelan colors over a cream shirt that looked freshly pressed. Jump was rubbing a wet cloth with his nose over her new shield. He raised an eyebrow at that. The dog noticed his entrance and growled softly. Though Jump and the sparrows were on orders not to hurt him, even if he and Keladry fought, they still watched him as if they could still attack him of their own volition.

The pair stood in the middle of her room with nothing to say. At last one of the sparrows chirped and Keladry cleared her throat.

"So what do you think?"

"What do I think about what?" Joren asked impatiently.

She gestured to the shield. "Of my knighthood."

He folded his arms. "I know better than to answer that question. I'll say 'congratulations... you deserved it.' You'll ask me if I meant it and I'll say yes, but I won't be able to get this awful tone out of my voice so you'll wonder if I lied to hide any remaining traces of prejudice. And that will lead to you being slightly offended, but of course you don't show it like normal people. Your parents will be able to tell there something wrong in your attitude on this great night of all nights in your life because they're your bloody parents and they'll have a word with my mother. Next thing I know, my mother's boxing my ears and threatening me again." He took a deep breath. "So my answer to you is this: I won't answer your question and you'll pretend you didn't ask. We're better off, trust me."

Keladry shook her head. "I'll do you one better and say I'm sorry I even asked."

"Good."

"Fine."

"Fine."

A knock came at the door. Keladry went to the door and opened it. Out in the hall stood Lady Alanna of Trebond and Pirates Swoop, the Lioness herself. Joren noticed how Keladry's face lit up, though she tried to act reserved.

"Please come in, mylady."

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," the woman said. He noted with some amusement that Keladry towered over the King's Champion.

"No, I'll go wait outside while you ladies chat," Joren said, glad for the chance to exit.

He leaned against the wall next to her door and tried to listen in on their conversation. He could not make out much, but it did not take a wise man to know that Keladry was ecstatic. Finally, Alanna excused herself from the room and said she would see the both of them at the celebration. Joren reentered the suite and gawked at the sight of a very expensive sword in Keladry's hands. He could see a blue wave in the metal, something he had only glimpsed before in foreign swords that were highly prized worldwide.

Keladry looked up at him and said simply, "Griffin."

She sheathed the sword and put it down. Then, she rushed forward and hugged him. Joren awkwardly raised his arms and hugged back lest she bowl them both over.

"You're so giddy you could even embrace me. Duly noted," he muttered.

The bright smile she flashed him made him feel tired. Soon they would have to wed. He thought he could hate her only for that fact, and not have to hate her for her knighthood. He could hate his wife for being his wife. That was progressive, wasn't it? Compared to his earlier beliefs, anyway. They were not even married yet and he was running out of steam to detest her. To conserve his energy, he could start being indifferent.

There, he thought. A decision without fear, just as he was told to do.

She looked so happy. He remembered her warm arms around him after his Ordeal and supposed she had earned it. He could acknowledge that much, and remain unfeeling to the rest. That was what he told himself. Meanwhile, the wedding approached.

End Part I.


	5. Part II Disunion

Disclaimer: Protector of the Small is the property of Tamora Pierce. Please don't sue me. I just got laid off and I have zero money.

Autho'rs note: Thank you for all your reviews! I appreciated everything you had to say and I hope this continues to please you.

Part II. Disunion

At the end of winter, Keladry traveled to Mindelan to meet with her parents and make arrangements for the coming wedding. Her sisters and her brother's wives clustered around her with gifts of clothing and advice. _Take this red dress. Don't let Lady Einsrell bully you around. Have your say about how things should be done. Aren't the shoulders too narrow for her in that shirt? Give her this one. Tell him you think his ideas are good ones; he'll be so taken aback he won't notice you following your own plans. No, no no, give her this one. It flatters her breasts. Goddess, there's no need to look at me like that. You have breasts! You know you do! _

She managed to sneak away to the stables tend to Peachblossom and Hoshi, where Anders found her and congratulated her on her shield, choosing not to even speak of marriage.

"You'll do alright," he said, patting Hoshi's neck but glancing sidelong at her.

Keladry nodded. "I hope so."

"Any news on what you'll do toward the end of spring?"

Keladry remembered the face in the Chamber, the ghastly things she'd seen that had made her so furious. "I have a few goals." She wasn't sure if she was still under oath about being forbidden to speak of what went on during her Ordeal. "Let's just say I can't wait to get out there and fight."

He chuckled. "Whoever your enemies become, they don't stand a chance."

Time came for her to part with her home. It was odd to think of Mindelan in such a way; she had spent so much of her life away from it. She was more familiar with the Yamanis and the Palace than she was with her family's fief. Soon, she would be more familiar with Stone Mountain than all three. She bid farewell to the land. The homes that had been rebuilt were sturdy and the people were mostly without want. The parts of her family's home that had been flooded looked as if no disaster had ever happened. New flagstones and woodwork, neatly swept doorways. She looked up at the tower and imagined herself up there, watching the flood cover everything, no longer thinking of her fear of heights but of the greater fear of the marriage that the flood had brought with it.

Soon, she would become Sir Keladry of Stone Mountain and cease to be Sir Keladry of Mindelan. The unbecoming of her current self had already begun. Her new wardrobe had been put together by her female relatives. She would not even get to ride with the Own after her wedding festivities since the company was already at the border.

Lord Wyldon had passed on the position of training master that past year and was now playing a more instrumental part in the kingdom's military affairs. He had sent her a letter saying that he had an appointment already planned out for her when an appropriate amount of time had passed after her wedding. In fact, both Joren and she would have their separate appointments waiting for them when they returned to the Palace what with war a near certainty. Joren would be pleased not to be a desk knight chained to his fief. His mother was still doing an excellent job of running it and had already heavily criticized many of the major decisions he had made since his takeover of the fief. The fact that Joren had written to Keladry about it and she had responded was one more step toward their new selves, the married couple who shared their complaints about the world and were already bored with each other before old age had even set in.

Their wedding party arrived at Stone Mountain a week before the scheduled ceremony. The rest of the guests would arrive soon after that. Those friends who were not stuck at the border were coming. Neal was cutting it close, but he said he would be there the day of the wedding without fail. Raoul insisted it would take three giants for him to miss the occasion while Prince Roald and Princess Shinkokami sent a letter they would be able to come with Alanna, Buri, and Yuki in tow. It was the royal family's way of saying that honor had been fully restored to Stone Mountain and any further investigations by Sir Myles' spy network were officially halted. Officially, yes; unofficially, Joren knew he had better keep his wretched family in line.

Meanwhile, the growing guest list caused Keladry to almost forget that all her friends were all coming to see her wed. Why were so many people interested in her? She was not nearly as interesting as the likes of Roald and Shinkokami, who had to put off their own wedding for sake of royal expenses. Apparently Stone Mountain had enough money that the wedding expenses wouldn't put a dent in the funds that would be contributed towards possible all-out war with Scanra.

The night she arrived there, she was summoned to the library before she had even settled in. Einsrell waited there for her with a candelabra in one hand. The rest of the library was dim, but looking at the windows high above, it looked like it caught the dawn and had plenty of daylight for reading all day long. She didn't see anyone in Joren's family as the reading type and wondered if anyone had even been through the rows of books recently except to dust.

"You wished to see me, mylady?" Keladry curtsied. She was wearing one of the dresses her sisters had given her, light pink with matching cherry blossoms embroidered into the sleeves and skirt. She had seen her future relatives while wearing mostly tunics and breeches so much that she hoped the effort to wear fancy dresses would please them. The woman gave no indication as to whether she approved.

Einsrell's hand brushed against the spines of the books until her fingers tapped a thin black tome with golden lettering. She tugged it free and handed it to Keladry.

"The Heritage of Stone Mountain?"

"It is a record of our history and our traditions," Einsrell explained. Her eyes seemed to glow with the inner light indicative of Einsrell's pride blooming from the depths of her stoic persona. "This family has held sway over this piece of land for a long time. Every stone that makes up the walls, the floor, even the ceiling... has seen remarkable things. We respect our ancestors by tending the fief they handed down to us in the way that they did."

Keladry opened the book and turned to a random page.

"On the first day of harvest, cast the threshold with earthly gold. The fruit of your labors reaped today, the fruit of your loins dance around the fires. Pound your feet to stir the ground..." She frowned. "What does it mean?"

"It describes the harvest feast. We scatter some wheat on the path in front of the doors. The children run around the fires while the servants stamp their feet to the music. We tap our feet just a bit. Enough to participate, not enough to look like barbarians. That's one of the far older ones." She leaned over and turned the book to a third from the back. "You'll want to read up on these. These concern family behavior and functions. Weddings, funerals, births. I expect you to have it learned as soon as you can."

Keladry knew she had to read up about the weddings first. She could imagine the pomp that accompanied that. But funerals? Births? How regulated and conformed did giving birth have to be? She closed the book and made a mental note to look that up later.

"Now come. I have the gown for your ceremony made and I want to have the final fittings."

Einsrell started to walk out but stopped when she noticed Keladry did not follow her straight away.

"Something bothering you, my dear?"

Keladry bowed her head. "I am sorry to have to deny you, mylady, but I have already been given the dress I will wear for the ceremony."

"Nonsense. Open that book to the marriage ceremonies. The groom's family chooses the bride's gown. I knew I should have given this to you at your knighting ceremony." She took Keladry's wrist and began forcefully leading her out. "You'll just have to wear that dress given to you for some other occasion. Save it for a party at the Palace. I don't care."

There was no way that Keladry was going to discard all of Lalasa's hard work just like that. She was determined to wear the silvery dress to the wedding. It wouldn't do her any good to continue arguing with Einsrell about it now, so she let the woman guide her into her own chambers where a seamstress was waiting with the dress for fitting.

Keladry was goaded up onto a box undressed except for her undergarments while the seamstress pulled the dress over her and started sticking pins into the fabric. The dress itself was a periwinkle blue that was classic in the elegant style it was done in, though it was not particularly up to fashion. The lace and ruffles were done in moderation. The smooth satiny material was probably the most expensive around. It reflected Einsrell's sentiments: beautiful, but traditional. Keladry gasped as they tugged the corset strings.

After the grueling hour of fitting, Keladry retired to her chambers where maids had come and left her with toiletries but had not unpacked more than half her things. The rest of her things were not even there. They had probably been taken up to the rooms that she would share with Joren starting in a week's time. Their dressing rooms were separated to make room for all their possessions so they would not have to dress in front of each other. Still, there was a bed. A shared bed.

She went to the dressing room and saw that Lalasa's dress had been hung and smoothed out. She touched it reverently. It would most likely be the prettiest thing she wore, and one of the few dresses she wore in general, considering how much of her time had been spent in dirty breeches in the past few years. Keladry made up her mind to find Joren and get him to talk to his mother for her. She had to wear Lalasa's dress. It was as simple as that.

Naturally, he was at the practice court. Keladry cleared her throat and instinctively took a step back when he swung around with his sword in hand though he was well out of reach.

"If you're done fighting your shadow, I have a favor to ask."

His shirt was dark with sweat. He wiped his forehead against the fabric near his right shoulder, in the process stretching out his tiring muscles. "And what makes you think I'll grant it to you?"

"Just tell your mother I already have a gown for the wedding."

He was silent for several moments before he started to laugh.

"How about that...you're a woman after all."

"What?"

"You're being disagreeable about a dress," he pointed out.

Keladry took a deep calming breath. "It's my wedding. Our wedding."

He shrugged. "My mother picked out the dress and that's that. It's a tradition in my family. The mother of the groom always picks out the dress of the bride."

"Lalasa has spent months making that dress for me. I can't disregard all that work she put into it to see me wear another dress." Keladry pointed at him. "That's it. I'm the one who will have to physically put the gown on and I say it will be the one that Lalasa made."

"You'll never hear the end of it," he sang as he fell back into his practice routine, lunging at an imaginary foe.

"You don't even like your mother! Why defend her traditions? I thought you'd delight in the thought of annoying her."

He lowered his sword once more. "As much as I cherish the very idea, she would make our lives miserable. Do me a favor and wear the one she picked out. I'll make it up to you."

Her sensibilities were level enough so she could be angered by his nerve in asking her for a favor and be impressed with his offer to make it worth her while. After a few moments, she decided there was only one thing to do. "What did you say? Repeat that last bit again?"

Joren spoke through clenched teeth. "I'll make it up to you."

"Come again?"

The way he suddenly approached her, grabbing her by the hips and tugging her to him, made her suddenly regret her baiting. "I _said_ I will make it up to you."

Her mouth dried. Heat welled up in the bottom of her belly. It was all she could do to reply back without giving herself away.

"Trading sexual favors? Now we know who's the real whore," she whispered.

He shoved her away and stalked out, red in the face.

-----

It was after the midday meal when he knocked on her door. His mother's seamstresses had finished the dress and Einsrell had thought it would be 'pleasant' if he deliver the dress himself. Joren thought pleasant was hardly the word to describe it.

"Oh, it's you," Keladry said when she opened the door. She took the gown from him. "I still want to wear the other one."

"Must we speak about this again?"

"If the tradition had something to do with you wearing something you did not care to wear, trust me, we would be speaking about this and we wouldn't stop until you would have gotten your way."

He followed her in and watched her put the dress away. "I suppose it doesn't matter. We have something a bit more serious to discuss."

Dreamy hazel eyes became more alert. "More serious than the wedding?"

"The wedding kiss."

Alert eyes widened slightly. He was wondering how much thought she had been giving that topic, but her reaction suggested that she had completely ignored it. When she did not say anything, he reluctantly joined her. There was a gap big enough to seat three people between them.

"We have been working hard to tolerate each other without resorting to physical violence," he started. Was he really having this conversation? The sentence he had just spoken had probably never been phrased such a way in history. He snorted incredulously. "I don't suppose we could start acting like normal people. How hard could it be? All we'd have to do is..."

The significance of his silence was not lost on her. Keladry licked her lips. "Whatever you wish, my lord of Stone Mountain."

"Don't do that," he groaned.

"Do what?"

He slumped. "Don't sound like my mother ten years from now. It depresses me. The least you could do is act like you always do. I'm not going to forget I married a lowly, poor, mud-spattered tomboy."

A muscle in her cheek twitched. "I suppose you're right. You wouldn't forget."

"Good. So about our..." He coughed. "Wedding."

When he got up from the bed, so did she. They stood in silence until Joren stepped toward her.

"What are you doing?"

"We'll have to get used to this sooner or later. They'll expect it at the ceremony. Something affectionate and tolerable. No punching."

He was sure they both envisioned the savage fury with which they usually touched each other. Teeth and lips and tongue as if they wanted to devour each other, exposing the wolves within. It wouldn't do for the ceremony at all. Kissing did not have to be the obstacle they had made it to be. As pages, they had practiced staffwork with the knowledge that they were going to feel its blunt edge. The fear of pain had never stopped them. In fact, they had never feared it at all. He leaned forward now, not sure of what it was he feared. Perhaps he was afraid because this action would be the nail in the coffin of whoever he had been before this moment.

The kiss was warm, dry, and short. He inched away slowly, watching the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. He leaned back further and nodded.

"That ought to do for them."

"Right," Keladry agreed without missing a beat.

He started to leave. "Remember the dress."

"No."

He had one hand on the door knob and the other hand on the door frame. His shoulders sagged for a few moments while he hung his head.

"I can already see the years ahead of us like melting candles, dripping away until the flames die."

He left.

-----

In the book of traditions, it read that the bride shall be bathed by her most trusted women and surrounded by them in her sleep the evening before her wedding. Keladry had a feeling it had something to do with guarding the bride's purity until her wedding night, but was too embarrassed to ask. Her mother, Yuki, Buri, and even Alanna agreed to stay with her. They crowded in her washroom clothed in robes with drying cloths thrown over their shoulders. Keladry knew she should not be nervous about disrobing in front of them. They were all outstanding women whom she had been privileged to know; they cared about her and wanted her to be comfortable in front of them. Still, Keladry did not budge. She stared into the slightly steaming water with trepidation.

"Now, dear, while the water's still hot," Ilane advised.

Yuki held out her drying cloth in front of her. "You can get in behind this. That book says nothing about how you get into the tub."

Keladry nodded gratefully and moved behind the cloth. Buri and Alanna held out theirs as well to give Keladry more coverage. With her clothing pooled around her feet, she carefully slipped into the tub and sank up to her chin with her knees pulled up to her chest.

"I think I know why I'm not a conservative now all obsessed about tradition," she muttered.

Alanna and Buri laughed at that while the other women smiled.

Ilane knelt down behind her daughter and started working up a lather with the soap in her hands. Yuki dipped her hands into the water and doused Keladry's hair so it was ready for washing. Keladry offered her arms for washing by Buri and Alanna on either side of her, but kept her knees drawn up.

"We've already had our talk about bedding men and I'm glad to see you're still wearing that anti-pregnancy charm," Ilane said warmly. Her mothers fingers moved gently through her hair, rubbing her scalp in a way that made Keladry's muscles all over her body relax. "We won't have that talk again, but if there's anything you want to ask us, we are always here for you."

Alanna poured the water over her head this time. Keladry blinked away the droplets that stuck to her eyelashes and resisted the urge to sink underwater.

The talk that her mother referred to had driven Keladry to new heights of embarrassment. How difficult it was to sit there now and pretend that she still possessed no carnal knowledge of her future husband! Certainly her mother would welcome any sex related questions as a chance to be a good mother, but there was no talking about what she and Joren did. Who would understand them? That they felt better when they hurt each other, how it fanned the flames of their lust? Taboo was not the beginning of it.

"I'm not the best person to be giving you advice since I married the man of my choosing," Alanna said. "But I do know there's a time to fight and a time to compromise. Don't let him get away with anything just because he's your husband, but pick your battles." (Here, Keladry thought of all the things that she already let Joren get away with and blushed as she thought how uncomfortable the edges of desks were.) "As warriors of the realm, we are supposed to fight the war, not bring it into our homes." She breathed out deeply and chuckled. "Phew! Got that out alright. I haven't anything else to say, but I wish I did."

"At least you're both knights. You understand each other's work. I can't begin to tell you what relief that feels like," Buri said.

Keladry closed her eyes when they poured water over her head again to wash the last bits of soap from her hair. Under the muffling curtain of hair over her eyes and ears, she heard Yuki say, "And you get along far better than when I first saw the two of you standing together. You have changed him and I think he knows it."

_If only you knew what I have done to change him_.

There was no denying that Joren appeared troubled when he thought no one was observing him, troubled perhaps because he had not found a way out of the engagement and had, in fact, ceased to look for alternatives quite some time ago. She never even asked if he suffered insults and challenges the same way she did. None of his friends had rallied to his side after their engagement started. Everyone believed this was the cause of his sudden turn inward, his bouts of melancholy. But a lot of it must have been because of her, the same shame she felt, which he could not hide nearly as well.

She hated to admit it, but she worried about him. He isolated himself to his own detriment, miserably dwelling on things that remained immutable.

Keladry rubbed her eyes as she stood. From all sides, drying cloths wrapped around her like a cocoon. She was glad for it. She had no way to express her thanks for their support and their love, but she knew they understood. After dressing in a nightgown, she went to bed. There was an argument with who would share the bed with Keladry and sleep in cots. Eventually, it was decided that her mother would sleep with her while the others slept on cots. Eventually everyone fell asleep except the bride, who was unable to sleep partially due to the unfamiliar sounds of deep breathing surrounding her and partially due to her nerves.

She closed her eyes and folded her hands across her belly to feel the steady rise and fall of her own breathing. Tomorrow she would be married. Why did that have to be such a bad thing? They were both knights and both bent upon actively serving the Crown in the field instead of behind the desk. His caustic attitude came off as teasing to her ears now. They were adults now and appreciated the value of keeping up appearances. They could almost pass as players with all the acting that they did.

Just as well. Sooner or later, they would have to have children. The entire children business would require their cooperation. Conceiving didn't worry her, but if they didn't love each other would their children be able to tell? In any case, they were most definitely not going to start trying for children tomorrow night.

So she had no reason to be awake and making herself ill with anxiety. Keladry fell asleep and dreamed of children laughing.

-----

The day of the wedding was as ritualistic and stylized as all the major events of Joren's life as of late.

He woke at dawn and dressed in the company of his uncle, his cousin Perrin, Neal, Raoul, and Paxton. Similar to the ritual Keladry had experienced the night before, Joren's male relatives and companions had to join him before the wedding and follow him to the altar in a show of support and ratification. Joren had not relished the idea of being left alone with his uncle and cousin. Paxton was there, yes, but Paxton always deferred to Joren's relatives first in advising the young heir.

Though Arlen was an upright man, Joren knew he still wished to see his son Perrin in Joren's place even if there were several other people in between Perrin and the lordship. And so he had put away his pride and asked Neal and Raoul to join him. Paxton was only too glad to come, but he remained withdrawn; his old knightmaster knew how long Joren had been dreading this day and had spent four years already trying to cheer him. There was nothing left to be done but to stand at his former squire's side.

Had his father been alive, Burchard would preside over them all and lead them in a prayer. In his absence, Arlen gathered the men around and spoke, blessing Joren and thanking the gods that they were alive to see this joyous day.

Joren adjusted the mantle he wore as the lord of the fief. It was a slate blue cloth that draped heavily over his shoulders. He felt like an old man already, as old as his father when Burchard died.

"Will you wear something like that when you marry Buri?" Neal asked Raoul.

"Those of the peerage must. His is more ornate than mine. My lands are rich, but not as prestigious," Joren answered.

Raoul made a disgruntled sound. "Don't remind me, lad. Just another piece of stiff clothing needs must stay in my wardrobe. And there it will stay, untouched if I have anything to say about it."

"It suits you, cousin," Perrin offered. "But your shoulders are still not broad enough like mine to wear it properly."

Neal eyed him. The look he discreetly exchanged with Joren communicated that he knew why he had been suddenly invited to the private gathering.

"Not too broad of course," Neal said. "Don't want to look like some lovechild of a giant, do you?"

When Perrin's lip curled downward, Neal winked at Joren.

As the people were seated in the great hall and they needed to approach the altar where the priest was waiting, Neal hung back and grabbed Joren as the groom started to pass him.

"What is it?"

Neal glared at him. "I know you've had plenty of time to be at peace with this, but it still doesn't fully prepare you for the rest of your life. That's probably the greatest friend I've ever had that you're about to wed and I want you to know that she's worth more than you."

The men stood quietly listening to the low murmur of people not too far away. In another room, Keladry would be arranging her dress and her hair, listening to the same noise. Another moment like this, a moment as a man free to come and go as he please, would not come again. He was to be married. He would have responsibilities to his new family, his wife. It should have hardly bothered Joren since he was already chained to the cold stones that made up the walls of his ancestral home, a man already in his grave.

Joren stared out the door into the hallway where all his guests were expecting him to emerge from. "Does separate worth even matter any longer? Hereafter, everything will be funneled into one. Her actions, my name. But it will be more than that. Maybe more than anybody could bear if he was in my position."

"You have given this some thought," Neal concluded, marveling at the man beside him so different from the angry child he once knew. "Maybe you can make her happy after all."

The groom stared at his groomsman with some consideration before blurting, "We've been going at it for a couple years now."

"P-pardon?"

"On the Progress. Elsewhere. She wore that woman's charm. She'll have to take it off eventually. Heirs and all. Looking forward to making them."

Neal looked like he wanted very much to be anywhere but in that room with him. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but in his own body even. Joren smirked. That made him feel _much_ better.

"Come, Nealan. To the altar!"

Yuki would later remark how pale and sick her betrothed appeared standing at that altar beside the groom. She spent the entire ceremony fretting that he was coming down with something.

The two men filed out of the waiting room and walked side by side behind his uncle, cousin, Paxton, and Raoul. Servants were waiting to open the door to the great hall where benches had been arranged to seat the massive amount of guests that had turned out to see the event. Those who had been invited had apparently brought guests of their own whom Einsrell was too flattered to turn away. Joren had thought the spectators would have received their fill simply watching Keladry emerge from the Chamber. Now the simpletons had to gawk at their wedding as well.

He took his place at the altar and received a blessing from the priest. After, it would be Keladry's turn to enter the hall and approach the altar. There was a delay at the doors. A herald was leaning around the doors speaking with someone. Joren shifted his weight and concentrated on some spot to the right of the doors, just above the heads of his men at arms standing in their formal uniforms.

Most of all, he wanted to avoid looking at his mother's face when Keladry entered the room wearing her former maid's dress. It ought to be worth some entertainment on this horrid day. Einsrell was standing on the opposite side of the altar from him where she awaited with her sapphire ring on a small silk pillow for the additional ceremony that would make his bride Lady of Stone Mountain.

A collective gasp swelled from the seated guests, drawing his attention back to the main doors.

Keladry entered the room. Soft waves of periwinkle blue rippled and she walked forward. Joren glanced, then glanced again and there his gaze stayed. His eyes followed her journey down the aisle toward him. It was only his own habitual scowling that kept his mouth closed, but he would not admit that to anyone, least of all her.

She joined him at the altar and drank from the goblet of wine that the priest held out for her. The rest of the ceremony went by in some distant place in his mind. He could hear the commands for the two of them to kneel and to stand, to drink and to repeat vows after the priest. At some point his mother came forward and presented the ring on the pillow for him to place on Keladry's finger. His own heavy ring clinked against hers as he fumbled with the smaller piece of jewelry.

Their gazes met. Countless of times had their eyes done so, but now they looked at each other with the mutual realization that this gaze would continue past blinking and turning away, past sleep and separation, until the day one of them went into the ground. He would not be able to forget the green-hazel that colored her irises, nor the freckle near her eye, nor the almost dainty shape of her nose. It would stay with him always. And in her eyes, he sensed that she was thinking the same things. In her expression, there was sober acceptance as she placed her hand in his and turned toward the priest again for the closing words.

The bells rang. They were wed. They leaned forward and stiff lips met, just as they had practiced.


	6. Part II continued

Disclaimer: Protector of the Small is the property of Tamora Pierce. Please don't sue me. I just got laid off and I have zero money.

Author: I didn't change this in response to the last chapter. Just stating the fact. Enjoy- Sulia

P.S. I still don't have internet, which sucks balls because I'm outside a coffee shop using their free wi-fi to post this. It's cold, droogies. It's frigid.

Part II Continued.

The magnitude of the event was pushed off their thoughts in favor of having to entertain all the many people who found it necessary to come to Stone Mountain to see what should have been just a normal wedding. Keladry and Joren walked arm in arm toward the banquet hall ahead of their other guests until Keladry slipped from his grasp and summoned Yuki and her mother to come with her back down another hall towards her quarters.

"Where are you going?" Joren asked.

"You did not think I would really capitulate about the dress so easily? Your mother's book only said that I must wear the wedding dress of her choosing. The wedding's over, so I'm going to change into the other. It will be easier to move in for dancing in any case."

"What a clever wife I have."

Her heartbeat quickened, but she blamed it on her fast stride as she went towards her room, a room she would not return to that evening.

She arrived at her dressing room in time to yank the strings to her own corset and wiggle halfway out of it before Yuki and Ilane joined her, a little out of breath, to help her into the other dress. Lalasa's gown was much lighter than the one that her mother-in-law had picked out. Her torso felt as if it was expanding already without the tight cinch of the corset ribbing holding her breath in. A cold wet fingertip pressed to the skin below her ear and the familiar scent of cherry blossoms wafted to her nose.

"Where did you get that?" she asked Yuki.

Her friend revealed the small glass vial that was concealed in her hand. "I've been saving it. It is a present for you. I'll make sure it is taken to your... new dressing room."

Keladry bowed her head in thanks. She let her mother readjust her hair, which was now long enough for two small combs to be placed in her hair and draw it away from her ears. The combs were ornamented with small carvings of flowers inlaid with mother-of-pearl. It matched the glimmer of the fabric that made up the top layer of her dress.

Her fingers tugged up at the fabric of her dress as it threatened to fall off her shoulders. Ilane gently tugged her hands away.

"You look fine." Ilane cupped her face and kissed her daughter's cheek. "That's twice in the span of a few months that you have taken my breath away."

"Mama," Keladry began, her voice threatening to falter.

Ilane shook her head. "Let's not keep your husband waiting, hmm?"

She would miss these talks. Though Keladry had become mainly self-reliant, she had always cherished the fact that her mother was always there to offer a few words to give her strength. One day, one of her own children would think of her the same way. Would she have the wisdom to pass on to the next generation then? She felt as if she knew nothing.

Her mother and Yuki stood behind her expectantly. When Keladry led them back out, she immediately stopped.

"I'm sorry," the lean figure said from the shadows. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

She inclined her head to him. "Of course not, Perrin."

Joren's cousin came forward holding something small in his hand. As he stepped closer, she realized it was a purple flower with a thick stem covered in fuzz. "I wanted to welcome my newest kinswoman to the family with a very rare flower." He handed it to her. Keladry handed it to Yuki, who helped tuck it into her hair. Perrin watched the progress of the flower to its final resting place. He explained distractedly, "It's called a mountain bura. They're hardy things that weather the top of the mountain where none else dare to grow while staying so pretty."

His expression seemed sincere. Keladry remembered their last private encounter and thought he would not dare to try anything in front of her mother and Yuki. She offered her hand, which he bent down to kiss. His lips were thin and dry. Keladry cleared her throat and smiled. "I must not keep my guests waiting."

Perrin offered his arm. "Allow me."

Keladry permitted him to escort her back to the wedding feast. She kept her muscles relaxed though her mind was balanced on pins waiting for Perrin to expose his true intentions. When the reached the doorway to the banquet hall, he let her go and winked, vanishing into the crowd. She rocked onto her tiptoes to see where he had gone, afraid for any unfortunate souls to get in his way.

"Enough of him," Yuki whispered behind a fan. "You are beautiful. It is your wedding day."

Keladry smiled at that and wished she had a fan of her own to hide it. It seemed like a crime to feel this happy when she thought no other event in her entire life could compare with her knighting ceremony that past winter. She glanced down at herself and for the first time realized the detail Lalasa had put into the cloth. Almost iridescent leaves and bamboo stalks were detailed into her loose sleeves. It was a fine pattern that must have cost Lalasa a month's wages. Her former maid had only accepted half the price the dress was worth, refusing any more vehemently. Keladry would have to repay the rest of the price with copious recommendations to even more potential customers.

The admiring looks from everyone around her made it difficult for Keladry not to give into the happiness that she had not expected to have on a day she had dreaded for several years now. Raoul and Buri looked as proud as her parents did. Beside her, Neal looked he might jump out of his seat at any moment and sweep her up in a humongous hug. Yuki had made her way over to him by that time and looked over at his exuberance with the familiar crinkle at the corner of her eyes. Even Roald and Shinkokami appeared both delighted and surprised. She knew confidently that she looked even better in the dress she wore then than the one she had been wearing only half a bell ago. But when her eyes scanned the place at the table besides the visiting royals, her long-suffering discipline was the only thing keeping her from frowning.

Joren glared at her. He only did so for a few moments, before turning to the people around him and smiling. He said something then, but she couldn't hear from where he was. Knowing his developed act, he was probably bragging about her to the people who did not know the couple so well. Einsrell held up a hand to summon her to the table, but stopped when her son abruptly left his seat and made his way over to her.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Music! Food! Enjoy!" Joren called, bringing his hands up in the air to summon the group of entertainers he had hired to frolic in front of his guests.

He took her by the arm and led her out the other door, towards the grounds where dozens of carriages and tents had been pitched to accommodate all the people who had arrived. The rooms were filled with family members and the highest ranking guests. In this case, three of Joren's distant relatives had been bumped to the local town's inn in deference to Roald and Shinkokami, who had only arrived the night before. Keladry watched the streaming banners and pennants and turned to ask why he had brought her outside.

There was a tug in her hair. Her right comb started to come loose. Before she knew it, Joren had crushed the mountain bura under his heel. He dug a shallow hole in the dirt with one well aimed back-kick with his other boot heel, then rolled the flower's remains into it. He moved his foot again and covered the hole in one sweep.

"Explain yourself!" Keladry demanded.

Joren stared at her gravely. "Tell me you didn't smell it."

"What?"

"Did you smell the flower? Hold it for too long? Let some of the stem juice touch you?"

Keladry felt her gut clench like a fist. His reaction started to make sense now, but to acknowledge it would mean to accept the fact that she had been that close to death or illness without even knowing it.

"Poison?"

Joren glanced back at the doors that led inside. He sneered. "Perrin, was it? You should know better."

"Know better? I'd never seen the flower before," she replied. How could he act so calm about a poisoning attempt within his own family? Keladry had the right mind to go inside and demand that Perrin leave, even if she created a scandal. A poisonous flower, so deadly from just its scent and its essence, sitting right there against her head! She could have only been more angry if Perrin had given someone else the flower, someone who could not avenge themselves on him like she could.

"It was a gift from Perrin," Joren said. "That's all you need to know to dispose of it. It's an uncommon poison. Try the wrong antidote and you make the poison worse, though the antidote itself is very common." He paused. "Maiden's veil, boiled... should you need it." He moved toward her again, surprising her by reaching up to replace her comb. His fingertips glided against her hair as he combed the strands out and twisted the hair so it stayed when he inserted the comb again.

Keladry glimpsed parts of his face through his moving hands. "Why do you keep Perrin near if he makes so many attempts against you? Why not send him away?"

Her husband smirked. "Men who banish their malcontents are often found up in arms against them when the rebels return with an army at their backs. I can control him and his influences if I keep him on a leash." He lowered his hands and gazed out beyond the gates and walls that surrounded his family's ancestral home. "Trust me. If I send my cousin away, it will be in a coffin. Come."

His hand was warm in hers, yet Keladry felt a shiver go down her spine. She could not picture any man in her family being so ruthless as to evaluate those of his own flesh and blood as threats to be constantly monitored. Joren's family history seemed to inform his whole personality, now that she thought about it.

"If anyone asks," Joren continued in a low voice. "About the flower, that is... Tell them I was jealous."

"You might want to try something a bit more believable."

He yanked her closer and breathed against her ear close enough that his nose disturbed the fine hairs there. "How believable is this?"

By then, they were at the doors held open by the servants. Keladry suddenly knew what it felt like to have an entire room's eyes on her. Joren grinned. She could feel his lips catch strands of her hair. Her eyes focused in on Neal, who suddenly looked sick. _Odd. I thought he said he was alright with this. I'll talk to him later._ Joren led her back to their table, hailing his guests individually as he went. Further down the table, Perrin smiled faintly and toyed with a scallop speared on his fork.

The celebrations lasted well into the night, broken up in the afternoon with a group horseride around the fief and a sunset picnic where they could see mountain's dark silhouette against the red orange sky. Keladry had been forced to ride sidesaddle in her dress, which caused her to feel as if she had never ridden a horse before. Peachblossom did not seem to be enjoying it either and almost bit three people but for her intervention. At last, they returned indoors and those guests who had not left directly after the wedding were put up for the night.

Keladry and Joren were ushered up the stairs by Einsrell and other women of Joren's family to the couple's new apartments. Einsrell possessed the main suite still, but her chamber's decor had been scaled back significantly to indicate her widowhood. The rooms they were headed to now would be furnished with brand new furniture to symbolize the new family.

"Good evening," her mother-in-law said to them. The ladies with her curtsied and bid the same. Joren raised up his ringed hand to dismiss them. Keladry thought he performed the action so naturally. Yes, he was certainly born to privilege. Keladry looked down at the sapphire on her own hand. Only one day and she had already acclimated herself to the weight of it on her fingers.

They entered the suite. The sitting room had a new table of polished cherrywood with two places set. A fresh stack of stationary and quills were lined up in the middle, ready for both of the knights to do their correspondence and paperwork. The wall hangings looked ancient, but Keladry had never seen them before. Each depicted a pastoral scene that reminded her of some of the natural features of the land around them, including a shepherd on a mountainside.

Joren continued past her into their bedchamber and to the dressing rooms beyond while pulling off his tunic and shirt. The mantle had already been irreverently cast off onto an armchair.

"Your clothing has already been unpacked, but your other belongings are waiting for you to arrange them." There was a pause. "Why do you have so many cat statues? And why are they all waving?"

Keladry followed him in. The master bed was covered in a heavy burgundy quilt. A canopy balanced on the high thick bedposts with pulled back curtains and faded golden brown fringe. She looked away and saw a dressing table with some of her cats already unwrapped from their tissue cloths. She touched them fondly. The combs had already loosened in her hair. She removed them and placed them besides the cats, suddenly homesick for her own creatures.

Jump had been entrusted to one of Joren's groomsmen for the day. The old man had been patient enough with Hoshi and Peachblossom that Keladry felt comfortable leaving the dog there. Jump himself had quite a time of it exploring his new surroundings and being fed treats by a new friend. As for her sparrows, the ones who had chosen to stay with her roosted in one of Stone Mountain's towers. She had seen them gathered at the high windows of the banquet hall, watching her but not daring to come in. They knew Einsrell disapproved of the menagerie.

"Would it be possible for the sparrows to come roost here? They can come into the sitting room. I won't let them into the bedroom if they bother you," she said, not daring to come any closer to his dressing room.

Joren came out wearing a loose nightshirt and cotton pants, his feet bare. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyelids and yawned. "The little devils don't bother me. The problem is that they don't like me. I know better than to surround myself with creatures who are constantly at the ready to peck my eyes out."

"They would not. I've told them to trust you," she protested, "even if you don't deserve it."

He glared at her. Joren sat on the bed and leaned back on his elbows. Keladry tried not to think about the fact that soon she would be similarly dressed there beside him. She faced her dressing room but made no move toward it.

"Need help getting out of your dress?" Joren said with a hint of impatience.

"And since when have you been the helpful one?"

"Since I decided I would enjoy blowing out the candles and going to bed."

Joren pushed himself up from the bed and preceded her to her own dressing room. Keladry reluctantly followed. Her hands went up and held the fabric at her neckline below her collar bone. Without any word of warning, Joren went behind her and began to undo the clasps. She watched his progress in a full length mirror illuminated by a lantern that he had lit upon entering. Soon the cold air was brushing against the bare skin down her spine. Joren's face appeared over her shoulder. They both stared into the mirror. He studied her briefly before completing his task. Keladry held her arms pressed to her front still and glanced over at the nightgown waiting for her.

"Hurry up," he told her, departing without another glance. She chided herself for feeling slighted.

Keladry purposely took her time, slipping the gown down her shoulders. For a moment she looked at her naked chest: the size of her breasts, the symmetrical curves, the color of her areolas. She had never taken the time to examine herself before. Did he even see that when he saw her? Or did he just see the crease on her brow, the curl in her lip when she told him she hated him. Keladry slipped out of the rest of the gown and hung it up carefully. She would have to remind the maid to have it cleaned tomorrow. Worrying about the dress and how she would arrange her own belongings occupied her thoughts even as she left the dressing room and approached the bed. Joren was already on the far side, leaning over the candles set on the nightstand. She turned around and closed her eyes.

The singing of metal scraping as it left its sheath made her turn, fists ready though she had no weapon to deflect with. Her heart dropped to the bottom of her stomach. Her husband (and wasn't that such a terrifying squeeze of the heart in itself) stood on the other side of the bed with a dagger in one hand and the sheath in the other.

"Did the Own teach you that defense?"

Keladry smoothed out her nightgown and folded her arms across her chest. "What do you intend to do with that?"

He sat down on the side of the bed. "They expect you to be a virgin. Lift up your gown."

"What?"

He sighed. "Just do it."

Her hands dropped to her gown and held the cotton taut against her knees. "What kind of perverted mind do you have? You cutting me has nothing to do with my non-virginity."

Joren leaned forward. "My mother will check these chambers in the morning."

"For what?"

The dagger point swirled in tiny circles while he shook it at her. "What do you think?"

Heat rushed to her cheeks. Keladry looked down at the bed. Its blank white sheets were a canvas waiting for the paint. When it was all over, Lady Einsrell expected to see a story painted there in bedsheet creases and red spots to prove her son had done his duty. The thought of her mother-in-law poring intently over their wedding bed made her stomach turn.

"That's disgusting," Keladry muttered.

"It's tradition," Joren answered. "But you won't find it written in the _Heritage._"

"How do you know?"

"One of my mother's ladies told me after I saw my mother rise early after my cousin's wedding to pay the couple a visit. She'll be especially careful to check knowing how we get along." He beckoned to her with the dagger. "Now."

Even as Keladry thought of a protest, she slowly sat down on the bed and swung her legs up. Her eyes focused on the taunting weapon."Can't we wait until the morning?"

"No. The stain will be too fresh." He smirked. "I'll be gentle. I promise."

"Haha," she replied in a deadpan voice. Keladry studied his grip on the weapon. She could take the dagger herself if she wanted to. He wouldn't be expecting it. "I don't see why I have to be the one to bleed."

"Stop stalling."

"For the record, this is absurd."

"Oh? I thought this would excite you, considering our habits." He crawled on the bed toward her. But the gown stayed where it was. Joren gave her a look. "Lift it already. It should be somewhere that no one will see."

Keladry smacked his arm. "And you think I'll be showing off my legs to everyone? What of my ankles?"

Two hands on her wrists and Joren's full weight bore down on her. Keladry instinctively raised her knee to throw him off, but restrained herself. He still had the dagger between them and she didn't want either of them to get hurt, even if he was being awful.

"I think," Joren emphasized very carefully between clenched teeth, "that she's smart enough to have spyholes where you wash."

"And no spyholes here? Even places to listen at? You're being paranoid."

He shrugged. "Better that we've taken all precautions."

They were close enough for their breath to mingle. She shook her head. "Your mother is a devious woman."

"As devious as the sun is bright," Joren replied, then grinned mischievously. He eased himself off of her and laid on his side with his head propped up on one palm. "I bet a little nick on the inside of your thigh would be hard to spot even if she was spying on you."

Keladry grabbed the dagger and pointed it at him. "Then I'll do it myself. And after I'm going straight to sleep."

"It's our wedding night!"

"A dagger does not an aphrodisiac make. Go please yourself if you want. I'm sleeping."

He glared at her. After some time, he mumbled, "I'm tired anyway."

"Whatever you say."

She lifted up her nightgown, making sure to keep the gown out of the way while she proceeded to create a little cut midway up the inside of her thigh. She grimaced a little as she kept the point of the dagger pressed to the dimple of her skin until the tiny red spot on the bed satisfied her. She put the dagger down. Immediately, a handkerchief waved in front of her eyes, surprising her. Keladry snatched it from Joren's hand. She wiped the cut and deemed it small enough to leave on its own. She scooted over to the far side of the bed and pulled the covers up.

"Done. Hide the dagger."

Keladry didn't see what he did with it. She leaned over to blow out the candles near the bed rather than think about the counterfeit they'd just committed. At least it was something they had done together without fighting. Joren slid underneath the quilt and kept to his side, at least a body's width away from touching her with the stain an equidistant marker between them. They began the long process of forcing themselves to fall asleep in fluctuating states of discomfort, mentally and physically. _This _was married life.

-----

The morning was no romantic event either. Keladry awoke to find her husband on his belly with his arms and legs spread out, almost crowding her out of the bed. He had also managed to take most of the quilt for himself. She sat up, shivering. It was still cold in the morning and it seemed that she had been sleeping without a blanket pulled over her shoulders for most of the night.

Joren stirred. He cracked open one eye and grumbled, "Stop movin'. 'S too ear...ly."

A light sleeper, was he? Keladry bounced as she tugged her side of the quilt and slid back under. Joren groaned as pitiably as if someone was force-feeding him putrid tasting medicine. One groping hand shot out and grabbed a pillow to place over his head. Keladry sidled up close to the part of the pillow where she thought he might hear her best.

"I know we are staying here for a month before we report back for our new assignments for the duration of the war," she began, allowing herself to think briefly of mobilized troops and Stormwings circling overhead. "I thought we might tour Stone Mountain more thoroughly and take another inventory of what needs tending, especially since we shall hardly be here for the next few months." His body squirmed as he tried to press the pillow more tightly over his head. She drummed her cold fingers against the back of his neck, relishing how he cringed. "Now darling, you'll only suffocate yourself that way."

"Silence, you gods-cursed woman!" Joren shouted, though the power behind it had no effect since he was still muffling himself.

Keladry allowed herself a victorious chuckle. She rolled onto her belly and propped herself up with her elbows while moving as much as possible.

"But sweetheart, the day has begun," she insisted. "Its time to face our future!"

Two arms snaked around her and wrestled her underneath the quilt, shoving her face into his pillow. Joren's voice hissed hotly into her ear, "For the love of the gods, stop moving! Can't a man sleep when he wants to? I would have let Perrin poison you if I knew you were cheery in the morning."

He shifted so his own face was pressed against the bedding again, but he kept his arms and one leg tucked around her to keep her still underneath him. Her arm was twisted in an uncomfortable position and she jostled to ease the pain in her shoulder. Keladry bet he probably didn't even notice their close proximity through his stubbornness to sleep, though she was perfectly aware of the burning heat of his solid chest and the tickle of his fine blond hair on the back of her hands. In another world, she might have enjoyed this position with her husband, but the fact of who her husband was lowered her level of comfort by a critical degree. Still, Keladry had to admit she was now warmer than she had been all night. Though she was ready to go out to check on her animals, she decided she could spare a few more moments sleeping in. Keladry turned her face to the side, a move which placed her forehead in the way of Joren's mouth. His warm breath caressed her forehead and lulled her back to sleep.

When next she awoke, Joren was watching her shift in his arms. Keladry frowned. "What?"

"I'd forgotten you'd be here in the morning."

"Too used to sneaking around and yanking me into secluded hideaways?" she asked with a bit more acid than she meant. She slipped out from under his arms and sat up. The cold did not bother her so much now that she had anticipated it. She patted the pillow. "Up."

Joren rolled over. "No."

"We must see our guests off. They should be packed and lining up on the roads by now."

"Tell them you exhausted me last night. Let me sleep."

"No!"

His kick was not vicious. It was simply aimed at getting her out of bed, which it did very well. Keladry righted herself and slid the last part of the way out of the bed to avoid tumbling onto her head. She spun around, grabbed the edge of the quilt, and pulled hard. Joren rolled quickly. He tried to grab the quilt but it was already off the bed. Keladry bunched up the blanket in her arms brought it with her to her dressing room. "Up. Like I said before."

She could hear him trudge to the small dressing room beside hers, muttering curses which included his usual favorite words for her. When she finished, she waited in front of his dressing room. The part of her that still couldn't believe who she married bade her look over her shoulder. She imagined what their bedchamber would look like if it was trashed, just as on the day Keladry walked into her room during her probation year. And now here she was sharing a bed with the mastermind who had orchestrated her torment. She was _teasing_ him and bossing him around like she'd been his wife for years.

Her husband exited his dressing room wearing a tunic a few shades darker than hers. He saw her clothing and frowned.

"What's this? Dressed like a man again? They'll say we're twins or something silly."

Keladry turned up her nose at him and admired herself. After a day of wearing a dress, she welcomed the secure fit of pants wrapping around her legs. She put on a light coat to deal with the chill. "You wouldn't want to see me in a dress again. You always say womanly things don't suit me."

He shrugged. "Yesterday was passable."

The casual approval disarmed her. Keladry squared her shoulders and started towards the door. When she came close in passing, he pinched her just above the hip. Her hand grabbed his. Joren led her hand to his chest. He leaned forward.

"I still owe you for the dress."

-----

The time passed at a maddening crawl. As the new lady of the household, she was more like the new lady-in-waiting to her mother in law. Einsrell dragged her around by an invisible rope to catalog and write thank you notes to those who had given them wedding gifts. In the afternoon, they inspected the laundry to make sure every room was supplied with fresh sheets and drapes. If they had time, Keladry was asked to read aloud from Heritage, or become acquainted with the more local writings in the family library.

Eventually the birds were allowed to come into their sitting room. The maids took to the sparrows very quickly and did not even mind setting out food for them or cleaning up their messes. It was as if the servants had never seen anything cheerful before. And knowing the family they served, Keladry was inclined to believe it. Jump adjusted well enough. He was allowed to go anywhere he pleased as long as it was not the kitchens or Einsrell's suite, but Keladry warned him to stay near her or people who already favored him just to be safe. The dog would follow her about her duties all day, then disappear at the first whiff of Einsrell.

Two weeks after their wedding, Keladry finally escaped her chores and went to the stables to saddle Hoshi and go for a ride. Jump trailed behind, his one good ear standing upright as he pranced ahead of her. She came up short of the stable doors when she saw a familiar structure being built by two carpenters she had a passing familiarity with. She approached them and tentatively placed her hand on the post they were erecting. The post had a long arm at the top that had a string extended at its edge. The two men bowed to her and put their tools down.

"Mylady," they said.

"Whose idea was this?"

"Mylord's idea," the bigger of the two answered. "He put out the order yesterday for it. We're sorry if it isn't up to standards as mylady is used to."

Keladry gave the post a little shake to test its sturdiness. It did not budge. She leaned back to estimate its height and deemed it more than suitable for her purposes. "This will be fine. Where are the practice rings?"

"Stables. Just let us know if there's anything else needs be doing, mylady. We'll come running!"

They were so eager to please her, nearly falling over themselves with bowing and taking off their caps. She remembered the indifference that had greeted her as a girl that one summer and thought that the idea of her around must have grown on the people who lived at Stone Mountain. Or at least they appreciated the fact that she was under Einsrell's thumb just like the rest of them. Keladry favored them with a small smile. "I will let my husband know what a fine job you two have done and have him add a little bonus to your wages."

The carpenters grinned and thanked her profusely. She left them to finish their work. They had included a fixture at the top of the post where the arm was supported to allow the arm to swing with more solid target boards and were now adjusting it. In the stables near the door was a spike with several wooden rings hanging on it. She touched them and felt the sawdust coat her palm. These were fresh as well. She jogged past the stableboys and head groomsmen straight for Peachblossom's stall.

"I know you've been bored," she whispered to the roan. "But now have I got a treat for you!"

Keladry returned inside in time to wash up before dinner. Einsrell stood at the top of the stairs. Gone was the polite expression that Einsrell had used before when Keladry was a girl who could still change her mind about marriage. Now there was a scowl that reminded Keladry so much of Joren that she wondered if her children would look the same way when they were displeased.

She went up the stairs slowly, preparing to defend her behavior. Jump followed her up, growling softly the whole way. Einsrell turned around and left without another word. If silent intimidation was what the widow was aiming at, Keladry could not be happier. She stopped at a small nook next to her suite where there was always a maid waiting to serve. This one was a slip of a girl bent over her stitches. Keladry tapped on the wall with her nails to get the girl's attention.

"Hot water in the tub, please."

"Yes, mylady!" The girl put her sewing down and practically ran out of the nook. Keladry had already warned them that they need not rush at everything she said but they never listened. It was one more thing she hoped to change as she settled in.

Back in her chambers, Joren sat in at their joint desk easing his stiff neck. Before him books and ledgers were spread about haphazardly. A few pieces of parchment were already crumpled and discarded on the floor. Jump went to his favorite spot by the sitting room window underneath where the sparrows gathered and settled on a cushion. Joren cast the dog a distracted look as he went back to writing in the margins of a ledger.

Keladry walked up behind him. "Don't you have other people to do that sort of thing?"

He flicked a pen across the table. "They're scared of my mother. I don't trust them to not squirrel away funds for her own ends, whatever those ends may be." He leaned back in his chair. "And don't start me on my other relatives. I could go on until the sun went down and came up again."

When he realized she was not moving away from him after the brief conversation, he tilted his head back and regarded her through half-lidded eyes. "What now?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. I simply wanted to thank you for the... you know." She closed her eyes and imagined being astride Peachblossom again. "I must have practiced tilting for two hours. You should make notes in those little books to give something extra to those men who built it for me."

"It doesn't look anything like what we had back at the Palace."

"It worked well enough," she said. "Now I wish to know why my sweet husband had it built. A belated wedding present?"

Joren made a face. "Now you're being cruel. Don't ever call me sweet again." He got up from his chair and stretched. "Consider it a trade for the gloves you gave me back on the Progress. You might also consider it in the nature of a bribe."

"How so?"

He grinned. "I haven't had more than a fleeting glimpse of my mother outside of meals for days. She's too focused on making your life miserable to berate me as she is wont to do. You simply must continue to aggravate her with your insistence on doing things your own way."

Though his explanation made sense, Keladry wanted to pretend it was a gift. "Well, you have no need to bribe me. I insist on making my opinions known to her because I want to change a few things around here, not to keep her away from you."

"Nevertheless, I've had probably the best days home in recent memory than I can ever recall. If I knew having a wife would deflect all this misery, I would have married you as soon as I could."

"Is that all?"

The lascivious look he gave her made her want to strike him though she did not in case it would send the wrong message.

The maids came in with pails of steaming water, not even pausing as they bowed their heads and myladyed and mylorded them. They headed straight to the wash room. Keladry looked at Joren waiting for him to say something, but he went back to his work. She went to take her bath.

She sank into the hot water and washed away all the dirt and sweat that had collected on her body while she was out with Peachblossom. It was the dirtiest she had been since before the wedding. She felt ironically refreshed. Soon she would be back out in the field again. That month while she had been donning dresses and exploring her new home, the army had mobilized. Maggur Rathhausak had united the clans and become king. Scanra had a full army now with which to threaten Tortall.

She remembered the vision the Chamber had shown her. It was imperative that she return to Corus so she could walk into the chapel and place her hand against the iron of the Chamber again. She needed more information. Whoever that man was, he was not Maggur. She had no idea where to find him. The scrawny man surrounded by the machines, surrounded by bodies that made her want to lose her temper and beat him out of his wits before finally dispatching him.

The water eventually went cold. Keladry moved to rise, but then looked around her. She had forgotten to bring drying cloths and clothing in with her and had nothing but the washcloth that the maids had left. She hooked her elbows over the tub and looked over her shoulder. Did she dare? She had only had to slip through their bedroom to her dressing room on the opposite side, dripping everywhere and possibly slipping on the floor. She glanced at the walls of her small washroom. Perhaps someone was spying on her as she spoke, just as Joren had suggested on their wedding night.

"This is paranoid. No one's watching. And even if someone was, I don't see why I should care."

She started to get out of the water again, but she was interrupted by knocking on the door.

"Are you done yet? It's almost supper."

She slumped so fast the water almost sloshed up her nose. Keladry leaned her head back and called. "I forgot my clothes."

"You're joking."

"Would you... would you at least get me some drying cloths?"

The door creaked open. Keladry arms went across her chest and held so tightly it was as if she was born that way. She glanced over her shoulder and cried, "What are you doing?"

"We're going to be late. Mother will start noticing me all over again and giving us both all the misery she can. Just tell me which dress you want to wear. I'll get it."

"But... my undergarments, my shift. You shouldn't--"

"It's nothing I haven't seen before." He sighed dramatically. "Which dress?"

Keladry paused. She draped the washcloth across her chest. "Yellow. The yellow one."

Joren came in a few moments later with her things draped over his arm. He stood behind her, watching her try to curl up in the now cold water. She glared at him.

"Leave."

"Why should I?"

Despite how pleased she had been with him earlier, Keladry could only feel fury and humiliation. Their bouts of desire had always been infrequent due to their duties and their mutual hate. Was she expected to please him all the time now? Keladry hadn't agreed to this marriage for that reason but to spare the rest of womankind. _Damn him. He can look all he likes but I'm not in the mood. _

She kept her face blank and stood up, sloshing the water around her calves. The cold water dripped down her body as goosebumps formed along her limbs. She drank in her husband's appreciative expression as she snatched the cloths from him and began drying herself off as if he wasn't there. Joren looked her up and down.

"Thank the gods you cease to look so manly out of those tunics and trousers."

He held out her breastband and loincloth on a single finger. She didn't rise to the bait, but calmly took them from him and put them on. She slipped on the shift and the yellow dress over her head. She walked out of the washroom to get her shoes while finger-combing her hair. Joren followed. Part of her wanted to turn around and tell him to get that look off his face, but she didn't want to see the look on his face at all. He could be amused as he was in the washroom and she would lash him verbally for it. But she might lose her resolve if she saw something else in his eyes, something that would make her wish she had stayed in the tub until her fingers and toes wrinkled.

-----

The rest of the month dragged on while Keladry sneaked away to practice with her new present while avoiding her husband whenever possible. That plan was quickly foiled. Sometimes Joren would saddle up and join her. Though he missed twice as much as she did, he nevertheless continued to charge. He knew very well that she was nervous around him after the washroom incident, but she tried to treat it as an effort on his part to stay fit. He hadn't tried to touch her since the day after their wedding. Why?

Outside of these times, the couple did not associate. Even when they went to bed, they looked but did not see. They did not try to interpret the other's hidden meanings, just responded to what was on the surface. This is what had been decided, this institution of casual conversation and duty.

At the end of March, they bid farewell to Stone Mountain. The couple was back at the Palace in April in time to be gathered up in ranks with the rest of the knights called to service. Joren would return to Fort Mastiff while Keladry would continue to Fort Giantkiller to receive her assignment. She worried that she would not be able to find the men the Chamber had revealed to her on her visit when they had returned to the Palace. She kept this fear secret and nightmares of dead battered children plagued her. Joren must have seen despite their mutual blindness towards each other's emotions. He would stand at her back, then reach for some boot or brush when she thought he might touch her. He never did, not even to push or pinch.

They traveled together with the Third Company and the other knights who had been enlisted to defend their homeland. They went all the way through the mud to Fort Giantkiller, where the couple would separate. Twice during that journey she had been around to witness insult to Joren from conservative senior knights and even implied from some vile inn folk they had run into. He never did anything in front of her, but after he would disappear for lengths of time before showing up in their room. She meant to sneak glances at his knuckles to see if they looked pink and bruised from fighting, but he always turned away from her. If _she_ left herself react to every one of the barbed words thrown at her, she would never get anything done. And she had a problem to settle with a despicable necromancer somewhere across the border.

The night before they parted ways, Joren turned to her in the cramped inn bed. "Forget you hate me for tonight and let's continue where we last left off. Or better yet, keep hating me. You were always more ardent when you professed your resentment of me."

She rolled over. "What is wrong with you? You ignore me for weeks and suddenly you want to roll around the night before we report to our posts? Have you ever tried to be _nice_? Maybe I'd be more receptive."

"I ignored you? You're the one who was suddenly modest in the damn bath," he retorted. "You came to me before, punching and kicking and biting. Remember?"

"So?"

Her husband leaned over her. "So when did this change? You have my ring on your finger now. Now that you're Lady of Stone Mountain do you feel you have to act normal? That whatever _this _is can no longer be acceptable? Forget it. You and I hate each other and it always feels better when we do."

She slapped him. Then she pushed him onto his back and kissed him. He pulled her leg over so that Keladry straddled him. She called him a bastard even as she felt him harden against the junction between her thighs. Her heart was pounding in her chest. The crooked smile on his face was maddening.

Yes, he was right. This went beyond the impetuous moments after she threw love out on its rear and came to him to convince herself that love was not what she needed. She had other things to do with her life! She had to get to Scanra and find the scoundrel using poor children for dark magic. There was no time for emotions. She could just let this be what it was. A weakness of the body. An unavoidable need. The exorcism of demons. But that's all she would let it be. There were better things for her to dedicate herself to.

His hands slid up her thighs and divested her of her nightshirt. In a flurry of furious tugging they cast off the rest of their garments and came together again in a clash of teeth and lips. Joren yelped a little as if he'd forgotten what it was like for his lip to bleed.

"You bitch! Don't leave a mark where people will see. It will raise questions!"

Keladry almost cried. Denied her refuge.

He tipped her onto her side and curled around her, mouthing her neck just so she felt his teeth but he did not bite. Keladry made a noise of protest. He was being too gentle. This wasn't what she wanted him to be. Joren had to be someone who hit her just as hard as she hit him, not her _husband. _The bed dipped down beneath them as he pressed her into the soft quilting. He licked the skin behind her ear and brought her hand to his back, curling his fingers so the nails pressed painfully into the back of her hand.

She breathed in sharply.

"Where they won't see," he whispered with a chuckle.

Keladry smiled at him. She realized she had never before smiled at him and meant it.

His growl rumbling through his chest made itself felt against her breasts. She scraped her nails against his back as he pushed into her. Joren's mouth moved from her ear to her shoulder, sucking at the skin before biting it. She knew dimly that he was biting harder. His thrusting did more than enough to distract her. A calloused hand gripped the underside of her thigh. She wondered if he thought how muscular her own thighs were, if it bothered him. Keladry relaxed her hands against his back and instead glided up to his shoulder blades, then his upper arms. The muscles bunched under her hands, reminding her of her muscles but much harder. Maybe this is why he needed the pain. Not to hate, like her, but to forget who he was with.

Joren moaned into her neck as he picked up his pace and thrust a bit harder. His manhood slid in and out rapidly of her wet center. Keladry ran her fingers back down his back which was covered with sweat. A bead hung off his ear. Without thinking she licked it off. A strangled groan escaped his mouth before Joren lifted his head. With the hand that was braced near her head, he tugged her hair until she faced him. He kissed her again, tongue insinuating itself between her lips. Heat curled through her lower regions. She broke away, chest heaving, before pulling against the pain of her tautly pulled hair to kiss him again. The closer they came to the pinnacle, the tighter they held on to each other until their perspiration mingled and their panting was deafening in each others ears.

"Ah!" Keladry squeezed her eyes shut, riding out her satisfaction with back arched while Joren continued to draw forth the pleasure from her body with practiced ease. He cried out as his climax took him soon after, muttering obscenity after obscenity against her overheated skin while his hips eventually ceased to pump against her.

After some time, Joren shifted to the side. He nuzzled her neck, waking Keladry from her blissful haze. She got up on one elbow and looked at him as if just realizing he was there. Joren blinked. They stared at each other for a long while before he cleared his throat and rolled onto his back. Keladry drew up the blanket to cover them though her skin was still too hot.

"This is usually the part where one of us leaves," Joren murmured.

They looked at each other. The rest of the rooms of the inn were filled with knights and superior officers. Nowhere to go.

Keladry draped her forearm over her eyes. "Just blow out the candle and go to sleep."


	7. Part II cont'd

Disclaimer: Protector of the Small is the property of Tamora Pierce. Please don't sue me. I just got laid off and I have zero money.

Author: I have internet! Now I just have to get furniture. I'm going to be a little busy these next weeks because I'm taking a trip home to my folks and I'm trying to get more part time work. I'll do my best to get the next part posted in a timely fashion. Thanks for the reviews!

Part II Continued.

In the morning, the pre-dawn was dark but suffused with a vague light that seemed to emanate from every direction. For the mobilized armies, it symbolized the limbo between where they were now to the war posts that awaited them. Raoul and the Third Company would continue on to Steadfast. Joren would travel to Mastiff. Keladry would head not so far to take command of a refugee camp. She told Joren the news she learned that morning at muster as they saddled their horses. He had not responded then, but now that they stood about to separate, he spoke up.

Joren looked at her appraisingly and said, "You'll fight."

The other knights were already mounting up around them. Keladry kept one hand on Peachblossom's reins and the other on her hip.

"I was put in charge of a refugee camp," she reminded him. Her other year mates would be at Northwatch or elsewhere, in the thick of things. They would have a better chance of running into the Scanran men of her nightmares.

Joren shrugged. "The fight always seems to find you, even if you aren't situated so near to enemy territory." He coughed and muttered, "Who finds griffins and killing devices and has a killer fleet of birds? I swear on my father's grave..."

"Thank you."

"Yes, yes, alright. Off with you. Honeymoon's over."

"And here I was hoping for a show," Neal yawned. He came up behind them and rested a hand on each of their shoulders. He shook Keladry playfully, then patted Joren on the back. Apparently he'd blocked out the part of his memory that was traumatized by Joren's admission before the wedding. "Do not fret, my friend. I shall make certain your wife returns to you in one piece."

"Queenscove. Hand. Now."

Neal put his hands in the air. "Up." He grinned and mock-whispered to Keladry, "Such a charmer. Yuki pales in comparison to his beauty and stature."

Joren gave Keladry a pointed look. "Keep him away from me."

"We're leaving," she promised, giving her friend a stern look. After a moment's deliberating, she darted forward and kissed him on the cheek. "Have a care when you're out on patrol."

The parties were already moving out. Joren mounted and galloped to join the rear of his group. There had been no time to see how he had reacted to her impulsive decision.  
At least the camp would be close to Mastiff, so Joren would be fairly nearby. She frowned at the thought and dismissed it.

Neal and Merric would serve under her, too, which brought considerable relief. For a moment she thought she would be stuck with disagreeable knights like Quinden of Marti's Hill, who had not insulted her in the presence of Joren that journey but had scowled at her nonetheless. Neal would fuss at her only because they were friends and it was his nature; she only worried about Merric, who was her year mate and would be taking orders from someone his age instead of an experienced leader.

Lord Wyldon, Duke Baird, and the men under her command traveled with her to the fort that she would name Haven. The refugees caught at her heart strings though she refused to show it. Even if she itched to find Blayce the Nothing Man, no one else would protect these people like she would. _Orphaned children, hard-working folk who were eager to learn how to defend themselves._ No one would treat the convict-soldiers as fairly as her. _Get some meat on their bones._ _They're half-starved._

They all watched her and every move she made. Her decisions were scrutinized and challenged at every turn, but she kept telling herself that she was still the best person for the job even if she was as green as the grass. It felt like probation all over again. More and more refugees came. She had trouble with a few of them who refused to accept their situation and do the necessary work.

The children delighted her with their eagerness to train. So impressed with her refugees, she did not even mind the headaches they gave her with the problems they brought to her door. The pride she developed in them made each attack that followed that summer made her more determined to let them come to no harm, to teach them how to let themselves come to no harm.

As Wyldon insisted, Keladry traveled with an escort to give personal reports and make supply requests at Fort Mastiff. It irked her to leave her camp with less trained men to defend it than she wanted, but she was eager to see Mastiff. The courier that went between the two forts never carried any messages from Joren. Though he tended not to write letters when he was kept occupied (and thus happy... or as happy as he ever got), she still wished to know how he fared. After spending so much time with him as of late after their wedding, it was only natural. Certainly.

She saw the flash of pale blond hair on the battlements when she entered. Keladry pretended to be looking at the superior structure of Fort Mastiff compared to what she had been given, even with Numair's help fire-proofing and putting up boulders and stones. It was not difficult. She was intensely jealous of how better protected Mastiff was, a fort filled to the brim with experienced, disciplined soldiers while her people did what they could in cramped quarters with less than forty regular soldiers.

Owen greeted her exuberantly, chattering all the while to her and Neal before properly greeting Duke Baird and Numair and leading them to the mess to eat. Keladry looked over her shoulder at the raised walkway where she had seen her husband. He was already walking down the stairs near the gatehouse. She signaled for her companions to go ahead without her as she waited for Joren to reach her.

"I hear you've seen some action. I told you that you would," he said, his arms folded over his chest.

Keladry cleared her throat and offered a small smile. "Well, with what resources I have and still so many people to protect, I'd prefer to see less action."

They started ambling towards the officer's mess hall.

"And you?"

"They let me lead patrols from time to time. Except when His Highness is here, then I'm joined to his hip with the other younger knights as his guard detail."

"You're speaking of Prince Roald?"

"Yes. He's here."

"You've seen a decent amount of fighting, then."

"I'd like to think so. Far better than when I was first knighted."

_And I wonder who you have to thank for that?_ Keladry studied him from the corner of her eye when they were almost at their destination. Joren looked peaceful for a knight serving in a war. Combat was all he had wanted since the time he had distanced himself from his former friends. He wanted the fight, not a wife. And there he was, living his dream. She wondered what he would do when this war was over.

When she left again, neither of them bothered with anymore polite kisses. They realized the only people who cared about those pleasantries were far away. Here in the north everyone was much more focused on their duties and their anxieties. When he bid her goodbye, she looked over her shoulder and was surprised to see Perrin with a squad of the Own. Joren followed her gaze and simply answered her with an exasperated look.

-----

Back at Haven, she was secretly delighted though publicly irritated to see so many people come up to her and ask her to settle disputes for them. Apparently, she had been missed.

Life went on. Animals, now more intelligent than ever after Daine's visit, alerted her about more refugees coming in by the dozens. There were more disputes, more everything. Keladry could only get down on her knees and thank the gods that at least the clerks never bothered her for help. She secretly loved them more than anyone else.

The evening before her next report to Mastiff was due, Merric knocked on her door. She let him in. He was with another man, a courier still dirty and out of breath from a long ride with the wandering eyes of someone who was still expecting an ambush. Keladry's chest muscles tightened. Fort Giantkiller had fallen already. What now?

"What news do you bring?" she demanded.

The man bowed to her and tried to wipe the dirt off his face with equally dirty hands.

"Your husband, mylady."

Keladry blinked. "My husband what?"

"Kel," Merric interrupted. He put a hand on her shoulder and looked deep into her eyes with a compassionate expression. "Kel, they're sending for you. Joren is dying."

The world came to a stop. She searched Merric's face for the hint that this was a joke. He remained grim. When the world restarted again, Keladry had sufficiently suppressed any impulses towards personal reaction into a compact ball resting underneath her heart. It weighed heavily like lead.

She put Merric in charge in her absence after he explained what had happened. At first, she would not go. She went over Merric's duties, spoke with the sergeants, and even the clerks. One of the Haven youths finally saddled Hoshi and told her to go and not to worry about them. The ride was going to be a hard one, especially at night, but it was not clear how much time Joren had. They provided the messenger with a fresh horse, but he would not leave until he'd slept. Keladry could not wait that long. So she went under the moonlight with a griffin feather tied to a headband and half the escort she'd had last time she went to Mastiff, afraid to take any more.

The Heritage of Stone Mountain read:

_"None may touch the lord except his lady, who will stay with him until the end. In tending his deathbed, she shall be alone also, for deep is the bond between man and wife. In this last way she shall __serve him until the Black God leads him by the hand."_

Only once in the short amount of time she had spent in Stone Mountain had she been to the family's catacombs. They were beneath the mountain. Joren had pointed it out to her on one of their rides, this entrance set against the natural mouth of a cave leading to the tombs below. There were naturally occurring and man-made niches in the rock where bodies were laid to rest. He had last been there for Burchard. Then, Joren claimed, the darkness felt alive and ready to close over them even with a lantern in every hand.

Keladry considered herself too young and too new a wife to go through another ritual of this family. When she reached Mastiff, her mind was set on forcing Joren into living if she had to spoon-feed him all the curatives she could get her hands on.

They opened the gates at her approach. The only other female knight was Alanna, and Keladry looked nothing like her, so Keladry had become recognizable to people she had never met. A civilian youth took Hoshi to the stables. A healer came outside to meet her and immediately started retelling events. Owen came running, giving his condolences and saying that Wyldon would meet with her after she had seen to her husband's comfort. With both the healer and Owen speaking at the same time, Keladry felt her grip on reality starting to loosen. Was Joren really dying with healers helpless to do anything?

The report went thus: animal scouts had discovered some Scanrans on the move. Along with two squads of the Own, the patrol went out to meet them. There were several killing devices which they were able to bring down. The Scanrans they encountered were killed, but the Tortallan army was not without its casualties.

They reached the door of the infirmary. The healer frowned with his whole face tensed. He reminded her of a withered apple. "It's odd, miss. We healed the stab wound in his shoulder and the gash on his arm, but some substance was on the blade that injured him. A poison, maybe, resistant to our efforts."

Keladry went in. Left and right were men nursing injuries or retrieving fresh bandages for wounds that still bothered them when the healers were stretched too thin to deal with them all. There was a section in the back with a makeshift curtain drawn in front of it. With a confirming nod from the healer, she went to it.

He was pale and covered in a layer of sweat so thick his skin shined as if it were polished. Keladry took a cloth from a bowl of water on his bedtable and started to dab Joren's face and neck. His fine hair stuck to his skin. Breath puffed from his lips, but Keladry could barely feel it when she raised the back of her hand near his mouth.

"What are you doing for him?" she asked quietly.

The healer sighed. "None of the normal treatments for poisons work. We cannot even figure out which poison it is." The stressed soul looked to be at the end of his tether. "And this with his kinsman dead, too! I am so sorry for your family's tragedy, miss. There was nothing I could do for him. That one was drained of life even when they brought him back."

Keladry held up a hand to signal silence. She could distantly recognize her own trembling. Tears on her cheeks? No. But her nails bit into her palms as she stood and faced him.

"Who?"

"Perrin Trulle, miss."

She was not surprised. She breathed out slowly and said in a low voice, "Take me to him."

Just outside the outer walls, the bodies covered with canvas to discourage scavengers and Stormwings. It had already been nightfall when the burial detail had started and Wyldon had not felt confident having his men outside the walls at night. She covered her mouth with her sleeve and turned back the canvas. _Well, well._ she thought. Perrin looked asleep. Save for his one fatal wound he appeared as if he would rise and attack her at any moment. Keladry took in the beautiful Perrin's neck where a dagger had been lodged. The weapon itself had been left where it was, perhaps to keep the blood from flowing everywhere. She yanked it. Keladry felt no need to be careful. The thickened dark blood dripped out and made a pattering sound against the wood of the cart, like cake batter dripping in a kitchen.

The dagger, just as she suspected, was hers. Only after she arrived at Haven had she realized her Raven Armory dagger was missing. It made sense that Joren had taken it. She did not know if he took it because he liked its quality or because it belonged to her. But he had taken it and here it was. She did not have to think long to reconstruct events as they most likely had happened. Without turning to look at the soldiers with lanterns gathered on the battlements and the ones at her back who had followed her out the gate, she said, "I almost wish you'd left him with the other Scanrans to be picked off by the scavengers."

"That's unlike you," a new voice said.

Keladry turned and came face to face with Lord Wyldon, puffy scar and all. He watched her with his hands clasped patiently behind his back. She noted he did not look angry, but ready to receive an explanation--and by the looks of it, he expected it to be a damn good explanation.

She kept her voice low. "I honor life, but even I am finding it difficult to honor a traitorous, would-be murderer of kin."

Then followed the explanation: who had access to mountain buras, what she already knew of Perrin's hostility towards herself and her husband, as exemplified by his actions at her own wedding. She felt this cold rage in her that made her feel like someone else. Perrin had threatened her on her wedding day and here he had almost succeeded in killing her husband, his own cousin. She knew leaving his body out for scavengers was cruel, but she knew Einsrell would have approved of it. Perhaps that was the reason she did not feel like herself. She almost approved, too. Her former training master regarded her suspiciously.

"Do you have proof of this besides that dagger and a history of malice?"

Keladry turned toward the healer. "Give boiled maiden's veil to my husband. He will live."

-----

And Joren did live. By the next morning, his fever had broken and the head healer expected him to wake at any moment. Keladry took a washcloth and began wiping away the sweat from his upper body so he would be more refreshed by the time he awakened. As her hands glided over his chest and shoulders, she thought of him looking at her...watching the beads of water roll down her back as she had dried herself in front of him. She thought of encounters in hallways, hands on her wrists, and fingers dancing along her back undoing ties. She thought of his hands and the fit of his gloves. Keladry held one of his hands and wondered if he used the gloves like he had used the dagger. When she looked up again, he was awake.

His lips were dry, pinkish white with lines of red where they cracked. He licked them and rasped, "What are you doing here?"

Keladry dropped his hand. She adjusted his pillows as he sat up. He watched her like some foreign creature, but made no move to stop her. When he was comfortable, she retreated to the end of his bed where she folded a newly laundered blanket to hide her nervousness.

"Are you going to answer me?"

Keladry met his gaze. "They sent for me."

"They?"

"The healers here. They sent for me—" She stopped, but did not look away. Her eyes resembled that of a cornered animal. It didn't suit her.

"Sent you to tend my deathbed," he finished. He smiled grimly. "I told you that you would become accustomed to these family traditions of ours."

She stood up. "The healer will want to know you're awake."

"Tell me he's dead."

It was not difficult to tell who he meant. Her dagger was cleaned and placed on the bedtable in its sheath. Keladry pointed to it.

"It was in up to the hilt. Of course he's dead." She paused. "I had him buried last night. Not with our men. The other grave for the Scanrans whose people left them behind."

The pride that flashed across his features made her feel important, then sickened that she had felt so. A man was dead that deserved it, but he was still dead.

Joren nodded. "Uncle Arlen will be angry. But mother will put him in his place."

She ignored his last comment. "I need to get the healer. Don't move. I'll fetch you some breakfast, too. A nice porridge."

"I don't wish to be treated like an invalid. I'm only injured."

"You could have died."

"But I'm not dead."

"Not today."

Her back was already turned, so she did not see him watch her every step. When she was gone he reclined again and raised the hand she had been holding. Against the light, the creases on the palm on the pads of his fingers looked like they always had. He studied it still.

-----

When the healers cleared him as free of poison, Keladry returned to Haven. Joren was allowed to leave the infirmary, but excused from patrol for the time being. He wrote a letter to Einsrell explaining Perrin's fate. He never knew how close she was to Arlen, but in any case she would keep him from stirring up trouble. It was simply not how things were done in their family. Word spread about what had happened between Perrin and him. In the thick of things, no one had noticed them fighting each other. Joren did not go to the mass grave or even acknowledge that Perrin had ever been there. His cousin's fellow squad members looked as if they wanted to pick an argument with him, but they did not dare, considering what Perrin had been believed to have done. He ignored them.

More important things were happening. When he left the infirmary, he was immediately summoned to Lord Wyldon's office. Wyldon told him that Haven had been attacked in Keladry's absence. Instead of bringing the remainder of the survivors and livestock to Mastiff, she had decided to rescue the refugees that had apparently been taken alive.

When Joren heard, he went straight to Raoul's temporary quarters. The knight commander shrugged.

"Both you and Wyldon are surprised? I thought you might expect it from her."

"Not surprised. More..."

"Worried?" When Raoul didn't receive a reply, he said carefully, "Dom's squad is already unaccounted for. So are are several of her year mates, Sir Neal included. I hear even mylord Wyldon's squire Owen has gone."

Joren looked out the window and tried to calculate how much distance he could travel under moonlight. Raoul shook his head.

"Do not even think of it. She just saw you dying not so long ago. It would be better if you stayed. She has plenty of friendly swords to watch her back."

The vision from his Ordeal came rushing to him like a cheap punch to the jaw. He might as well put on a dress and start sewing while he waited. Wordlessly, Joren left Raoul and went to his room to lie down. He did not sleep because he knew exactly what he would dream about. The candles burned down to nothing while he watched the shadows taunt him.

Next news he heard, she had rescued the refugees from a necromancer, the children in particular. She had killed men instrumental in the production of the nightmarish devices that Scanra had let loose on them. A little child, a seer, had even named his wife "protector of the small," a name which was spreading like wildfire through whoever had mouths and ears to pass it along. Rumor had it that Scanra had now lost a lot of its momentum without its macabre weapons. Keladry had done Tortall a great service. In return, she was appointed command of the refugee camp again and had to oversee its rebuilding. They had renamed it New Hope.

He should have been in the group of riders that greeted her as she came back across the border. He had even saddled his horse and changed clothes. But in the end he had returned to his room. Wyldon had not exactly ordered him to go, just expected him to be in attendance. As the days passed and more aid was sent to rebuild the camp, he knew he should have kept staying away, but something nagged at him like a itch he could not scratch.

Now he requested to be reassigned to New Hope temporarily, just to see how idolized she had become. At least, that was what he told himself. What he told Lord Wyldon was that he felt anxious about being separated from his wife so soon after their wedding especially with his near death experience. Certainly, the camp needed more protection after its destruction in Keladry's absence. If he hadn't been injured, she would have been there to defend them. He asked Wyldon to consider the kind of person Joren was: the unlikely couple had spent the latter part of their youths acting so formally and politely with each other that they were not about to stop now that they were married, especially with Keladry's focus on the people she had sworn to protect.

The former training master regarded him carefully before giving permission. Though many might protest the couple being posted together, Keladry had made enough difference in the war that it would ill suit anyone who tried to insult her for the time being. That did not mean people would not talk about him. His wife's blossoming military career and his dead cousin were all anyone could talk about when his own name came up in conversation.

He wanted to be angry, but he found himself bereft of the feeling. He thanked Wyldon for the assignment and left to pack.

-----

She opened her door and found Neal standing there with the kind of grin on his face that she had started to get exasperated at if only for what it heralded.

"What is it?"

"You will not believe who has just come under your command."

"Zahir? Garvey? Someone else who hates me that I don't know?"

Neal grabbed her hand excitedly and pulled her after him.

When she reached the front gate, a soldier was taking the stallion's reins and letting Joren remove his pack from the horse. Two more squads of soldiers were behind him having their horses being led away by New Hope youths. When he saw her, he glanced around at the staring people and put his things down. Then he went straight to her and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Keladry stared at him wordlessly.

"Good to see you're in one piece. After what I'd heard, I thought you might be missing an arm or an eye by now."

Neal was still grinning. He leaned towards Keladry's ear and whispered, "He's been temporarily assigned here while we rebuild. I didn't clear a bunk for him. I expect that..."

"You must be tired and hungry," Keladry interrupted, a little louder than she meant to do. "A bit of bread, maybe, and a nap? After that, we can talk about your duties and the rotation of chores. Neal, would you mind showing him his... my..."

"Certainly," Neal answered. He patted her shoulder and waited for Joren to pick up his things and follow him inside.

She was left staring after them wondering why on earth Joren would let himself be put under her command. The past few years had shown he prized his solitude and especially his time away from her. His plan might be to undermine her recent deeds by trying to embarrass her in front of the camp. He could publicly make a point of disobeying her as a commander and giving her orders as her lord and husband. Luckily, she knew her people would stand by her.

A woman refugee who saw the exchange sidled up next to the lady knight.

"Who was that?"

"That was my husband."

"Aren't you pleased to see him?"

"Thrilled," she muttered.

When he accepted his first rotation of chores at the mess without a fuss, she wondered if he had not been cleared of poison after all. They talked about how he would assist Merric in organizing the men for work and conducting the patrols. Some of the refugees wanted to rebuild their homes just where they were but many hoped to stay at New Hope and eventually transition the camp into a village. The surrounding resources, put under stress during most of the fighting, were abundant enough to support the camp residents in peacetime. Joren told her he thought it was a good idea.

"No, really. What do you think?"

"I said it was good, didn't I?"

"Yes, but you can't really mean it. You want to recommend that they travel more inbound from the border instead of staying here a stone's throw away from people who once burned down their homes."

He frowned. "Do I?"

"You said as much when you heard about my assignment to Haven in April."

"Maybe I did. But that was then, wasn't it? Why are you being so disagreeable?"

Keladry started to walk away. "I'd rather not argue in public. My room."

"I was not aware we were arguing," Joren replied. "I thought I was talking and you were refusing to believe the words out of my very mouth."

She did not speak again until they were safe within her quarters. When she looked at her narrow bed, she realized she would have to share it with him. It wouldn't be the first bed they'd shared, but she had grown accustomed to his absence. Her body was now used to pain inflicted naturally, consequences of her duties as a knight. His very presence set her at odds. So many years and she still did not know how to deal with him. He was acting too nice. With pride like his, how could he place himself under her command?

"I told Lord Wyldon that I was going to be the paradigm of a nobleman in order to be assigned here." He leaned so close that she instinctively leaned back to avoid bumping foreheads with him. "So that's what I'll be whether you think it natural or unnatural."

"Why did you want to be assigned here in the first place?" she demanded.

He started to crowd her backwards. With each step he took, she retreated another step. Three steps from the wall, Keladry grew fed up with the show of intimidation and stopped where she was. She narrowed her eyes at him, willing him to stop if he knew what was good for him. Joren continued toward her until they were toe to toe.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

Joren did not respond. Instead, with unblinking eyes, he leaned in and softly pressed his lips against hers. His lips were parted and she could feel his breath entering her mouth. His face was so close that her vision blurred trying to focus on him, but his pupils did not move at all. He moved backwards until he came into focus. She immediately noticed the absence of warmth where his lips had been.

"What was that for?"

He appeared lost in thought. Then he licked his lips and said in a low voice, "I'm your husband, aren't I? Isn't it within my right?"

The floor was opening up beneath her. Was anything what it was supposed to be? She frowned and tried to keep her voice steady. "I thought we had an understanding."

"It was bad, then?"

Keladry became as close to flustered as she ever got: she looked at her feet and continued in a frustrated voice. "What? No. I mean..." She shook her head. "I don't know. You caught me off guard."

"Again, then."

His hands were trembling—or maybe she was imagining it—when he cupped her face and brought her closer. Keladry leaned forward, her body as taut as a harp string. Joren's adam apple bobbed once before he parted his lips again and kissed her. She closed her eyes at first, but the kiss ended abruptly.

"Look at me," he whispered through clenched teeth. "You close your eyes and I could be anyone to you."

So he still thought of the Progress even after everything they'd done. She had not seen Cleon for a long time; the redhead had been out of her thoughts completely what with everything else going on in her life. Looking into Joren's intense blue eyes, she saw the hatred he bore inside--perhaps for the humiliation given him on her behalf or perhaps just for her. Keladry dug deep in her suddenly aching chest and forced out the courage into the light, as harsh and hot as it was.

"You're my husband," she told him firmly. "Who else would I kiss?"

She could not read his reaction to that, but he paused before continuing.

He leaned toward her again and then there was blessed contact. Both pairs of eyes remained open again, the hot air from their nostrils mingling. She concentrated on the feel of him, the taste that was nothing, but distinctly him. He smelled like fresh laundry aired outside near a pine forest, or maybe that was her. She didn't know anymore what was her and what was him. Her hands reached up and covered his hands still holding on her face. Suddenly, Keladry saw his eyelids instead of blue irises and his hands were slipping from her jaw down her neck. She shut her eyes. Then, she moved her hands with his until they fell away from her body and their hands touched as loosely as their lips.

His lips were gone again, but his forehead remained pressed to hers. Keladry's head was swimming. He could read her confusion in the slight pulsing squeezes in her hands. He turned his head away and sighed.

"Joren."

"Yes," was the muffled reply against her hair.

"What's happening?"

He stepped back and shrugged, letting her hands go. "Nothing, nothing."

After that, he left the room without looking her in the eyes. Keladry went to the window and stared outside. The clouds and the horizon had no answer for her either, but she watched them like she could see her future. She saw reds and oranges, verdant trees dappled with shadows, and the dusky earth with people milling about below her. None of the colors or the motions had any meaning, yet Keladry desperately wanted it all to mean something a lot like love.

End Part II.


	8. Part III Disestablishment

Disclaimer: Protector of the Small is the property of Tamora Pierce. Please don't sue me. I just got laid off and I have zero money.

Author's note: Thanks again for all your reviews! Here's the promised explanation for the journey of the story so far.

_Addressing the issue of Joren and Keladry's relationship_, I'll say this: I first wrote the story without any of this sadistic sexual behavior and both characters came off as unbelievable. Keladry is too strong to be passive towards Joren. She's going to hit back. Joren's the same. He has to fight her. When neither of them fought in the original version of this story, they came off as depressed people who wallowed in angst. It wasn't them. So what was there left to do? Just have Joren and Kel fight? Okay, then we just have two people who hate each other and fight a lot.

I reintroduced the element of Cleon and all of a sudden Keladry had this crushing frustration that she didn't know how to properly vent because she was supposed to focus on becoming a knight, not live by her emotions. For that commitment and the duty towards her family, she resigned herself to her promise to her fiancée and backed herself into a corner emotionally. She needed someone to love, even just physically, and Joren was comforted by the idea that someone else was just as miserable as him. Throw in their already boiling hatred and you get two people who hate each other and themselves- but damn it all if they're going to let anyone else know. They've got to keep marching on to knighthood and war. This is their attempt to deal with it.

Hope that makes sense to everyone else.

Now for the third and final part in our story.

Part III. Disestablishment

In the evening, she was a realist. He was a man. When he was a boy, things like hating girls came naturally. With a girl like her in his life, that attitude had been prolonged, but stifled and twisted under the force of duty. He may have learned to sweat it out of him like a fever, but its absence did not equal love. He was a man while she must have been a girl inside to forget somehow that he had needs. That's all it was. Needs.

He knelt on the floor and started to undo a bedroll he had brought along. Keladry stopped him by placing her foot in the way of his unrolling.

"You're not sleeping on the floor. I'm surprised you even considered it. Where's that infuriating Stone Mountain pride?" She started to change into her nightclothes. There were no screens or dressing rooms to afford her privacy, but he had seen her already, as he'd pointed out one night not so long ago.

His eyes roved over her form, but his expression did not change. "You're in charge."

Joren put away the bedroll and took off his shirt. He stripped to his loincloth and put on a pair of loose fitting cotton pants. He got into bed, rolling onto his side to give her room to lie down beside him.

Keladry reluctantly lay down on her back, but her right arm dangled off the bed.

"Turn on your side," Joren advised. He scoffed. "Command of the whole camp and you still give yourself the narrow bed."

"There are families who need bigger beds than me," she replied. Keladry turned her back to him. As she did so, Joren draped an arm over her hip.

"What are you doing?"

"Making sure you stay still. If you still squirm as much as you did a few months ago, then I might be better off sleeping on the floor."

When he spoke, his breath tickled the tiny hairs on the back of her neck. She turned her head slightly so she could catch a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye. "I'll keep still." She touched his hand that rested on the mattress in front of her stomach. "Why did you come here?"

"Had to see for myself."

She turned further so she was leaning her weight against him as she twisted around to face him. "See what?"

"See if I could handle this... lesser feeling."

"Lesser than what?"

"No, just feeling... lesser."

"That makes no sense."

He paused to find the words. "Lesser in reputation, in accomplishments, in regard, even though I'm the head of the family." He closed his eyes, remembering how he hunched over his desk in the Ordeal. "I feel old already. Old enough to die."

The slap that caught him on the point of his cheekbone caused him to open his eyes and wrestle down the hand that wanted to strike him again. "What's the matter with you?"

"With me?" Keladry demanded. "I'm not the one who wants to die! When did you start talking like that? Maybe that poison affected you more than you let on."

"Ever since your damn..." He thought of how he'd packed his things, but still watched his party ride off to the border to greet her triumphant return.

He finally spoke. "If you knew what gave me cause to say such things, you would keep quiet."

"Then tell me."

He insistently turned her onto her side again so that she had to look away. "I cannot speak of it."

It was not difficult to deduce what he was not allowed to tell her. So that was his greatest fear? The one the Chamber had hammered away at? If she was uncertain before, she was as sure as the moon in the sky that he hated her. So be it. It wasn't as if they had married for love. She had nothing to be disappointed about, but couldn't stop herself from saying quietly, "You hate me. Being married to me is a fate worse than death."

"We haven't even been married that long."

"But this isn't the life you wanted. At least, if you had to marry me, you didn't expect to be--"

"Don't remind me."

Keladry moved her hand down his arm slowly. His muscles tensed under her touch as if he was restraining himself from pulling away. "I'm not going to live with you like this. You don't need to be reminded that you can best me in a duel. I do a few things and you act as if you've lost your manhood."

The arm over her jerked back, squeezing her. The air rushed out her lungs. Teeth softly bit down at the junction between her neck and shoulder before lips soothed the area with an opened mouth kiss. Keladry could not think straight for all tingling that went down her spine straight to her gut to some vague area she didn't like to think about. She felt her husband smirk against her skin.

"I know I'm a man and you're my wife. I suppose I should assert that more often." He squeezed her again. "Don't worry. I have no designs on you tonight. Though if nearly dying has taught me anything, we ought to think of having a son soon."

"A son?" Keladry echoed, mouth dry. "What about a girl?"

"An heir," Joren continued. "My late cousin was not the only one waiting for something unfortunate to happen to me."

"I'm not ready to have children yet."

"Doesn't matter. I might die. You might die. We're constantly this close to death and I daresay my mother might outlive us both. We need an heir."

She was perfectly aware that they had steered the conversation away from how Joren felt, but she let the words stand. There would always be tomorrow. She squirmed to get into a more comfortable position without her hip jammed on the hard part of the bed. Joren sighed behind her as he moved to resettle himself as well. He whispered some of his favorite vulgar names for her, which Keladry replied to in kind, much to his surprise.

-----

In September, they went to Fort Steadfast for Raoul and Buri's wedding. There had been neither a repeat of their conversation nor Joren's kissing her since he had arrived at New Hope. The physical tension went on. At least, it went on for Keladry. Husband nor wife revealed if they were bothered by the other person's presence. Keladry almost considered it a victory on his part. If he was moody that her exploits had only grown more heroic since knighthood, he could always boast that he was the only man in the whole world that still frightened her--if only for reasons no other conventional hero would have problems facing.

On the entire ride to Steadfast, she could only think, _I'm anxious about being bedded by my husband when I've _already _lain with him. I'm pathetic._

The residents of New Hope eventually grew accustomed to Joren. With respect to Keladry, if any of them questioned Joren's masculinity being subordinate to his wife, none of them showed it. He went on patrol and otherwise kept to himself. Sometimes he helped train the more promising refugees in defense with common weapons against that of a sword. The refugees appreciated his skill and his willingness to teach them. He was thought of on the whole as a practical and useful person, though he was not someone with whom they could joke or share stories.

Near the end of autumn, Wyldon had found more work for Joren. He was listed in the guard detail that carpenters and other craftsmen would need as they went back to their villages to assess what could be rebuilt before the winter. With the war coming to a close and the colder winds already blowing in, more knights and soldiers would be available for such a task. Joren would be able to go home for winter and so would Keladry, though she loathed the idea of leaving her people behind again, even if the biggest threats had passed. He arrived home at Stone Mountain in time to meet Keladry for Midwinter festivities. Merric, young and unmarried, would take charge while she was absent to work on his own leadership skills.

Winter at Stone Mountain was much less festive than the Palace, but no less ritualized. They had missed the harvest celebrations, but there were still plenty of lavish dinners attended by more distant relatives that Keladry remembered vaguely from her wedding. Back in the bigger bed, the couple was no longer required to hold each other out of necessity. Still she found herself scooting over to his side of the bed. Keladry reasoned that it was cold and the fire was never warm enough for her. From time to time, she squirmed on purpose so he would wake slightly and move, allowing her to invade the spot he was just lying in and bask in its warmth.

Winter at Stone Mountain also meant that Einsrell was back on her mission to make Keladry's life utter torment. There were no lessons in keeping inventory of their guests' bedsheets and fresh drying cloths, but her mother-in-law found a larger weapon that she could throw all her time and strength into in order to make Keladry as uncomfortable as possible.

"It's your duty, daughter, to bear me a grandchild."

_Not her too_, she thought. Joren had only mentioned the idea before. He never pushed it. He probably did not look forward to it just like her. But the way Einsrell stared her down conjured images of the woman listening in at their door or, gods forbid, locking them in their chambers until Keladry was with child.

"Mother, I'm still young. I have many years yet to bear you a grandchild and I need to be fit for service come the spring."

It was a small thing to surrender and refer to Einsrell as 'mother'; only Ilane was "Mama." Keladry bowed to her and started to leave.

Einsrell's voice followed her. "This conversation is not over!"

True to her vow, Einsrell pestered the two of them with bold mentions of grandchildren and the children of Joren's other kin.

_Raille has two sons and a daughter by now! If he were Lord of Stone Mountain, our future would be secure._ _Look at those hips. Those are birthing hips, do you not see? Even better that she is a knight. Her body is strong enough to handle many children. __They'll be strong children, too. I suppose we'll have to hope they inherit their father's features, but at least they'll be strong-boys and girls alike. Even if they're a whole herd of bulls, they'll still be grandchildren!_

At last, Joren turned to Keladry in bed and announced, "We can't go on like this. My ears are bleeding from all of mother's talk. Let's give her cause to hold her tongue already."

"You're not serious," she said over her shoulder.

He moved closer to her until he was spooned against her back like they used to be at New Hope. "About the ear bleeding, no, but about what we have to do, yes."

Keladry stared at the wall. "I'm not ready."

"When will you be ready? Ten years from now?"

His hand traced a line up her forearm and down her shoulder to her neck where his fingers pinched the chain holding the anti-pregnancy charm. She grabbed it before he could tug it off.

"No."

His lips were wet against her neck again, doing the same thing he had done months ago and had not done since. How long had it been?

"I mean it," she continued.

His hand was up her nightgown and skating against the front of her thigh straight up to her hip.

"And now?" he whispered.

Keladry closed her eyes and shuddered.

To be honest, she had expected the normal fight. She expected limbs tangled and chests heaving, biting and scratching and bruising. Instead, he was very gentle. He ran his hands over her like he was outlining her figure in the air. He kicked off his pants and helped peel off her nightgown. She shivered from the cold air, so he pulled the blanket over them. Suddenly they were a secret and she concentrated on staying quiet, though as he started to press between her legs her gasps became fractionally louder. Then he was against her and she gritted her teeth. But the moment he was in, the ball of tension inside her relaxed. She thought of how he must have known to do this gently all along and just not bothered. Another moment and Keladry couldn't care less because at least he was rocking his hips.

He abruptly changed his angle, brushing a spot inside her that caused her to bite his tunic and dig her nails into his scalp. He gasped, cursed, and did it again.

A strange frustration welled up within her. Keladry hated him. She always had, but this was worse. He made her feel like this. Him. Without thinking, she reached for him and scratched her nails down his chest. He hissed sharply and pulled back. She moved in tandem with him, rising up and battling for dominance. Without warning he crashed his lips against hers, biting and pressing her down again. A rumble deep in his chest made her pulse quicken. Yes, she hated him. It made her feel more than she expected she ever would. Hate was stronger, he had taught her. It had pulled her out of her own skin. No shields, no schooled expressions of indifference, just flesh and vulnerability. Look where they were. Here far above the world. And far below it.

Later when she woke up and he was swirling his tongue behind her ear, they fought again. He bit her; she bit him back. Their scratches swelled furious pink and red lines across their bodies. But they soothed the marks with their lips, painting each other in moist trails and goosebumps. They wrestled and rolled over, trying to pin each other while entangling themselves in the sheets. She slapped him twice. He pulled her hair. At some point he was behind her, restraining her hands behind her back while he kissed her spine, but he shifted his hips in such a way that she whimpered and forgave him everything he had ever done.

Was this what she had feared? This joined feeling that ebbed and swelled like the entire ocean was washing over her body? The last wave crested and she could feel the sweat on his back through her thrumming fingertips. They went to sleep again, but by the morning he was awake again and gently rubbing his nose against her shoulderblades. Keladry felt the soreness and ache in her body and rolled over to face him.

"Tired," she whispered hoarsely.

He shrugged. "Need a son."

"Just stay here," she told him. She didn't dare open her eyes to see whether he cared or whether he merely lusted. They were naked and sticky for a reason. She pressed her face against his chest and tucked her arms in between their bodies, her fists at the swell of her breasts.

"Sooner, not later," he demanded and she was aware that he was pressed against her belly already half aroused.

"Maybe. Sleep now."

For once, he didn't argue with her but settled against her so they could go back to sleep.

Outside of their bedchambers, it was business as usual. Joren and Keladry performed their separate duties and met sometime in the afternoon to practice swordplay. She frequently debated asking him if this changed anything between them. It was hard to ascertain if his ardent bedroom behavior was an act for the act itself or if he had actually grown to like her enough to let himself do that. Keladry knew it was not her fault if he was miserable, but she thought they might benefit if their truce actually transformed into something else. She still heard the way his voice dropped, talking about his own death. It terrified her that someone like him could fall that far.

Keladry decided to brood over motherhood. It would hurt a lot and put off her career, but it was far less likely to drive her insane.

Stone Mountain had no skilled healers who specialized in women's bodies, though there were two midwives in the town. Keladry would know she was pregnant when she started putting on weight and becoming ill in the morning. Some of the women who waited on her insisted they had their own superstitious ways of knowing if she had conceived: sneeze under a doorway twice in one day, if the cows liked the smell of her and followed her around for at least twenty paces, and so on.

Until then to be on the safe side, the lord and lady made a routine out of their nighttime activities. The shock that he was touching her with no harm intended wore off as did her nervousness. They even mastered the knowledge of their inarticulate noises and half-sentences. All this went on until they lay spent underneath the covers with the excuse of winter and drafty rooms to keep them pressed against each other. In the morning, they dressed and occupied themselves the entire day until it was time for them to meet again.

The worst of winter passed. Toward muddy spring, Joren left for Mastiff to meet Lord Wyldon and receive his next assignment. Before he left he arranged to meet with her as soon as she found out if she was pregnant. There was a midwife at New Hope. When she returned there, she would ask the woman if she thought Keladry would have a child yet.

At New Hope, she discovered that she was still not pregnant. The woman asked her when her monthlies tended to come around and was able to pinpoint her more fertile times of the month. She could have easily asked Neal (for Burchard had insisted on as complete a healing education as possible), but found that would simply be too awkward a situation for her to even consider it. Keladry jotted the fertile dates down and sent them quickly to Mastiff, hoping Joren could see her during this month or else they would have to wait for the next. Keladry looked at her sword and wondered why she was so eager to do this and lose months of work. She would be able to spend the first few weeks of pregnancy putting affairs in order at New Hope, but then she would have to go back to Stone Mountain and spend more quality time with Lady Einsrell. Why would anyone rush into that?

_It's not what I'm rushing towards_, she thought when she looked at her husband's name at the head of the letter. Keladry convinced herself she wouldn't feel this way if he had just approached it in some minimal functional, like she had heard tales of other husbands. But he had to touch and taste her all over like he had been planning this all along, planning this domination of her senses and thoughts in return for the "lesser" feeling he harbored deep inside. It was still the same fight, just a different method of defeating her. And he _had_ defeated her.

Apparently he left so soon after receiving her letter that he did not even bother with an answer. He had hopped right on the back of his horse with Neal in tow so that the scout sparrows suddenly reported that he was an hour away. Neal was returning from his own home where arrangements were underway for his wedding to Yuki noh Daimoru. The healer had stopped at Mastiff to consult with his father Duke Baird, who was there on a medical consult of his own. She thought she might ask the cook for a favor: prepare Joren's favorite meal. With Neal beside him for the entire journey, her husband was bound to be in a colicky disposition.

When they arrived, he dragged her straight to her room where a woman on cleaning detail was changing out the sheets and sweeping the floor. Keladry had hoped the woman would have come earlier. Joren didn't say a word but turned around and pulled her along until they were at the stables. She ignored the knowing looks of a few people they passed. They must have been starved for some news about her relationship with her husband since the last time he was there and nothing seemed to happen.

They stopped in an unoccupied stall at the end of the stables.

Keladry looked around her. "What are we doing here?"

"Your room is compromised. I didn't ride all the way here in the rain and mud, relinquishing _my own_ leave time, just to walk around and chat with you. You said the midwife designated this as the optimal time, didn't you?"

Keladry studied the hay and the sawdust, smelled the horses down the stalls, and cringed. "You must be joking."

Her husband gave her a cool level look. "Might I add, in the rain and mud with Queenscove. I'm sure you're familiar with his fondness for conversation." He paused. "Or at least his attempt. And his whining. Gods!"

She slapped him on the arm lightly. "You know that's not true."

"Isn't it?"

Keladry was ready with another rebuke, but Joren had already grabbed a fistful of tunic and yanked her against his body. His lips crashed into hers violently. Their teeth collided with a clack that echoed in their heads. Joren leaned back slightly, hissing. Then there was balance in their bodily contact so they were not hurting each other though they were quickly losing their standing balance. They pitched backwards into the hay. Keladry landed on top, pressed her hands down just above the crooks of her husband's elbows, and propped herself up.

"What is wrong with you?" she cried angrily. She could already feel her lips swelling."Can't you give me a little warning?"

Joren drummed his fingers against her biceps, reminding her that he could throw her off. He'd always been good at that, she noted distractedly with a flush of warmth in her belly. "We're wasting time. I'm only here for two days."

The couple engaged in a staring contest during which time the horses down the way had pulled their heads back from over their stalls. Nothing good could come of it. The animals knew better than to get in the way of two dueling humans, especially if it wasn't their own masters who compensated them with oats and apples to do so.

"Fine," Keladry huffed, rolling off. She sat up and folded her arms.

Joren began casually undoing his belt. "Thought you'd see it my way."

"I could kill you," she muttered. She used her anger as a pretense for looking away.

"Wait until after the second child comes along. I'll need at least two heirs before I die, thank you very much."

They started out in the hay, though that didn't last for long as Keladry could not stand the feel of the hay getting up the back of her shirt and her rear. So they moved to standing where Keladry was gripping the top of the stall behind her head and biting her lip.

Afterward they shook the hay off their clothes and limped slowly back towards her meeting room.

"Let's not try that again," Keladry muttered.

Joren rubbed the lower part of his back where her heels had dug in to keep hold of him. "Don't have to tell me twice."

She thought about it for a moment. "It was worth it at the time."

"It will always feel worth it at the time."

"Here. I'll rub your back if you rub mine."

He considered for a moment. "Deal."

-----

At Neal's wedding, they were more discreet. By that summer, New Hope had become almost self-sufficient as a fledgling town under the protection of the lord of those borderlands. The forts continued to stand with less force than they did during wartime, sending Joren and Keladry on odd assignments away to assist the Bazhir and the Own respectively. By the middle of summer that Neal was finally able to have his wedding, Keladry and Joren had been separated again for a long while with the obvious failure of Keladry's pregnancy hanging over their heads. Keladry had put away her anti-pregnancy charm which had been lying on her desk all these months. She thought she might give it away to some woman who could put it to use, but she was sure to need it after this heir business was over. That was a difficult thought in itself. She would be a mother then.

The thoughts were filed away like old paperwork until she saw him again. At Neal's wedding, they dined and celebrated with everyone else. She glanced at him to see if he was eager to pull her away to get the duty done, but he let her stay and dance with Neal (who insisted saying that he did not get to dance with her at her wedding and she had not even danced at her own wedding and by all the gods he could name he was going to see the sight before he died). One dance turned into another as her other acquaintances found they could coerce her into dancing in her merry state. At last, Joren replaced her current partner and led her through a stately waltz, though it was probably because he did not want to be shown up.

Late in the evening, they went to bed heady with too much wine. As soon as the door was shut, he was on her all hands and lips and hips pressed against her. They managed to tumble into bed half clothed. He peeled her dress down underneath her breasts and kissed her collarbone. Keladry moved backward, bringing him with her as she fell onto the bed. He pushed up her skirts while she tried to hook the waist of his leggings and drag them down with just her toes. His skin was flushed and warm. Rosy-cheeked, like he was when she first saw him as a boy.

"What are you giggling about?" he whispered into her ear. His tongue darted out to touch her earlobe.

She laughed. "Am I?"

"Mmhmm," he hummed, right against the shell of her ear.

Her eyelashes fluttered. Too much feeling. Too much everything everywhere. He kissed the corner of her eyes, her cheek, her lips. She pushed his hair back and yanked him down against her and thrust her hips up. He groaned. The rest of their clothing came off quickly after that. For a brief moment they strained against each other, wrestling for the top position until Joren cursed at her. He slid between her legs as if it was where he belonged, the hairs on his thighs tickling her as he went.

With the ease of practice, he pressed forward and in, parting her and filling her. The room was spinning. She arched her back. Her body thrummed like the strings of a fiddle while he was the bow sliding back and forth to make her sing. The trail of hair underneath his bellybutton scratched her and she could feel the bones of his hips pressing into her. Then he started to slow down, taking his time pulling back and thrusting in hard and fast. He looked down at her with a wild gleam in his eyes. He bit his lip as he watched her pant, watched her move because he moved her.

He leaned down and slipped his sweaty hands underneath her body, squeezing her tight while pressing his forehead to her cheekbone. In response, she seemed to get tighter, that hot wet part of her that made him groan. She kissed his temple and folded her leg back farther toward her chest so her knee was almost at the back of his shoulder. He started muttering her name. She panted harder and rolled her hips to meet him as his thrusts became faster without losing force. It felt as if she were a bird flying straight up into the blinding sun so hot she wanted to burst into a million stars.

She arched her back as he bowed into her and pressed his pelvis so hard forward that she had to stifle a loud cry. Their minds blanked from the sensations buzzing through them.

They floated down.

He buried his nose into her hair and exhaled. They lay there with Joren still slumped against her. Keladry felt herself drift asleep, sated and wrapped in a cocoon of warmth. But something still stood at attention in her mind. Keladry licked her lips.

"What did that man say to you earlier?"

Joren gently mouthed her neck, letting her feel his teeth. It meant he would probably be awake later and waking her up as well. "What man?"

She tried to ignore his teasing. "The one in blue and brown. He pulled you aside when I was dancing with Dom."

"He was a friend of my father's. He had some advice to give to me."

She perked up. "What advice?"

"Doesn't matter. I didn't take it."

"No, really, what did he say?"

He raised his head suddenly and glared at her. "I don't have to tell you everything. I tell you what I choose."

Had he been born a wolf, he would be baring his teeth and growling.

Keladry returned the look. "Well, it would be courteous to tell your wife what goes on with you. It would be a step above not knowing how you've been, then having you in bed and gone in the morning back to whatever it is you need to do."

"I knew it!" Her husband poked her in the chest. "I knew you would start in eventually becoming like every other wife there ever was who insists on having a leash on their husbands. I don't boss you around like some husbands do to their wives, do I? I leave you bloody well alone, don't I?"

She shoved him off her and almost off the bed. Keladry turned her back to him. She dragged the blankets over the cooling sweat on her body. "Forget I asked then. I'll leave you alone."

It would bother her later that she couldn't tell if he was suddenly regretful because he was losing his chance at later activities or because she was actually offended. He folded his hands behind his head and huffed.

"For your information, he advised me to take a prettier mistress and just make sure the whore and the bastards had enough money not to try and grab more. Apparently my father and his friends had their hands full in offspring from stupidly forgetting to buy charms against it, which explains why the more 'distant' members of my family feel they have a greater right to my title than I do."

Disgust for the late Burchard of Stone Mountain had her stomach roiling. Was Joren lying to pacify her curiosity? She mulled it over, her anger dissipating. He wasn't known to lie. If he could tell the truth and anger her, he probably would. Keladry glanced over her shoulder. "That true?"

"Want to get your silly griffin feathers to find out?"

"No." She rolled towards him again and let him have some of the blanket she had stolen for herself. "You don't have to tell me any more."

"Good."

"Fine."

His arm reached around her back and hauled her up against him. She sighed, "You're impossible."

"Just stop _talking_ already."

Despite her efforts, she discovered that the truce they had struck up wasn't enough for her. Trying to have a child and being physically intimate just made her want emotional as well as physical intimacy. But apparently that was not in the cards for them. How did he do it? He was right there pressed against her with his hand rubbing her arm as if he cared that she was unhappy. And she was not completely unhappy. She had found a basic companionship in him that she had developed with few else. And then there was the fact that he admitted to not wanting a mistress to his father's friend. But perhaps she was reading that wrong. He despised his family. Refusing to have a mistress was perhaps his way of dealing with the volatile situation with succession disputes. There was no way to know.

"Don't think about it," he repeated as if he could read her mind.

She wished he could. He would see thoughts like ropes in knots of every kind.


	9. Part III continued

Disclaimer: Protector of the Small is the property of Tamora Pierce. Please don't sue me. I just got laid off and I have zero money.

Author's note: OK, so I've got a new record for number of story alerts put on this past chapter, but a record low for reviews. What's up with that, huh? At least I know _someone_'s reading. Well, here's the next part, you non-reviewers. Enjoy.

Part III Continued.

When they were separated again, Joren received a letter from Keladry.

It read only, "Success."

The single word was the hole in the dam spouting a thin stream of water while the wood continued to creak and press forward. Soon everything would give way. He sat down on his bunk as if the dam stood on his shoulders, bearing him down. The fact that he was going to have an heir meant Einsrell would leave him alone. That wasn't true. She would never leave him alone. But certainly, that was one less thing for her to criticize him for. No. It was one more person he would have to worry about.

He was Burchard's only son... only _legitimate _son if Joren could assume that his father's friend had told the truth. In any case, Joren had enjoyed Burchard's undivided attention. The memories alone prompted him to plan a second or third child somewhere down the line as well. No, perhaps not. No matter how many children he had, he could not be altogether sure if he would care for any of them save for their reputations and their association with him. Mithros. Why was he having children again?

Duty: the heavy mantle on his shoulders, the smile at dinner, and his wife's skin under his hands.

At least that aspect he did not mind much. Throwing himself wholeheartedly into the act made it easier. He could pretend that it was all what he wanted, that she was all he wanted. If he could pretend that, he could forget that he was becoming a stranger to himself. He had become soft. He felt less alive. Lesser again. But that was the upside of having Keladry as his wife. With the right encouragement, he could duel her like no one else could. And despite her talent to bruise him just as much as he bruised her, he won every time. Yes, there existed a truce, but the fight was alive and well.

He could not return to Stone Mountain until the leaves started to change colors, but Keladry would be stuck at New Hope during that time anyway, reluctantly grooming her replacement. She had informed Wyldon that she would have to take time off for her pregnancy. He wondered if she minded halting the progress of her career for a year or two to adjust to motherhood. But knowing how Raoul encouraged her, there were probably already plans in the works to make her some kind of "mother-general." At any rate, his business was done. Einsrell had nothing left to complain about. He did not even need to return to Stone Mountain until it was time for the child's birth.

Yet he made arrangements to return home anyway, citing the need to run his own fief. The harvest would be coming in. The oncoming war had been an excuse to miss last year's harvest feast. As lord, he should have presided over it. Now he was going to take his rightful place at the head of the table with his pregnant wife at his side. It would mean giving up his pseudo bachelor's life in the military: eating in the mess with the other men, sleeping in a narrow bed by himself with no thought day-in and day-out except what his duties currently were and how to keep his swordsmanship sharp. Sometimes he found himself sleeping on his side with his back pressed against the wall leaving enough room for another body, but he tried not to meditate on that for long.

It would be stubborn to deny that his wife was pretty. She was pretty in a way that was not classic, but still pretty in her unique way with her cropped hair and solid frame. Keladry moved and leaned against things that belied her physical training, made her more of an elemental spirit who was light on her toes like the wind through the trees, stealthy like the shadow of the tree, then the tree itself rooted down so deep that all the giants in the world could not topple her. He told himself he only noticed because they had known each other so long.

He still didn't care for her. A childhood of blind hatred and a young adulthood of practiced disregard did not eventually lead to a mature adulthood of caring.

That night, he noticed the narrowness of his bed. Still not narrow enough.

Stone Mountain had waited for its master to return. When he arrived home, she was waiting at the main doors along with what seemed like half the keep. Enough people attended that he got down from his horse and made swift strides towards her. The hug that nearly lifted her off her feet caused her to dig her hands into his shoulders, panicking, while he remembered gasps in his ear and long scratches down his shoulders. He set her down on the scattered trails of wheat and kissed her soundly.

She gasped into his mouth as he lifted his face from hers. Eyes, slightly unfocused, blinked rapidly until her mind had returned to her body. Joren kept one arm around her waist while he turned to his attendants and asked them to see to his horse and take his things inside. The last few times the couple had been in each other's presence he had not held back in the publicly doting image he presented, but not seeing him for weeks at a time left her unaccustomed to the behavior.

"Careful now," she whispered. Even having closed her eyes and meditated for most her life, motherhood was already disarming her. It made her anxious. He could see it in the slight widening of her eyes. It was in the hard line of her mouth.

Joren rubbed her lower back and put his free hand on her belly. She was softer, slightly rounded. One could hardly tell unless he already knew the state of her abdominal muscles when she trained regularly. She probably did still train in some capacity, perhaps only with her arms and a little with her legs. None of the calisthenics she was doing before. Slow steady strength exercises. Another back massage would probably be very appreciated. He did not have the slightest idea why it had been earned.

She sighed.

"What is it? Tired?" he asked.

"Hmm? Oh, no. No, I'm not tired."

Joren guided her through the door and kept an eye out for his mother. "Well, I am tired after the journey. I know I'd like to rest. Come catch me up on New Hope and your favorite melodramatic knight-healer."

The feigned interest in Neal's well-being made her eyes widen again. She took him by the arm and quietly escorted him upstairs to their chambers. When the door was closed, it was as if sound had been shut out with it. There, his hand on her hip. There his lips against her jaw. There on the underside of her chin. And she felt like a hollow doll in his arms, just standing there letting him play with her. He took her face in his hands and spoke but she did not hear.

And then it came rushing in, the sound, like crashing thunder.

"What's wrong with you?"

Keladry cringed and grabbed his hands, pulling them down. "Why are you still... I am already with child. There's no need for you to..."

"No need if I was only in need of a child. There are other needs. Ones we both have."

He reached behind her knees, confusing her until she realized he was picking her up, so she relaxed and let him carry her to the bed. He had never been so gentle before, even that time after the wedding. But there was no ignoring that he knew nothing of pregnancy. He smoothed his hands over shoulders and down her sides. She started to undo his breeches, but he suddenly captured her hand in his.

"I thought you wanted..." she began, starting to glare at him.

A flicker of something that looked like rejection flashed across her face. He wondered what disappointment tasted like. Tears maybe. Tears and thoughts bottled so deep they fermented until they were potent enough to make her drunk with misery. He leaned down and kissed her softly, pulling at her lip. She tasted of nothing, but smelled of everything he had always identified as her: birdtreats, the forest, soap and a flower he didn't recognize. What was he doing? He was doing nothing. Certainly. It was all her. She was his wife, so he had better correct her like a dutiful husband.

"Don't make it complicated," he told her.

"Then don't be cold one minute and hot the next."

He glanced down at her abdomen. Still her fault. Still. Still! "Will it hurt anything?"

"I'm sure it won't."

There was a brightness that came upon her eyes that let him know his concern had pleased her. He took advantage of her good will. He pulled the covers up over their heads even though it was still not cold enough to do so. In the darkness he kept her to himself. In the darkness he could still tell she was looking at him and mouthing words she did not dare to say aloud. He made his lips move against bottom of her ribs, where the skin dipped down toward her belly. She was so distracted by the feeling, she did not notice the words his lips were forming back.

-----

Without shadows to hide behind, he was as cold as the mountain at the fief's back. Except when there was someone else besides her-- then he was a player storming the stage. The time had passed since the Crown has withdrawn its threatening arm. But still a shadow that she knew he believed to follow him around. The shadow had Burchard's shape. That was enough.

In the light he was lord of his land, who had not flinched when Keladry told him his kinsman was dead, who had little love for his family, who once called her a bitch and punched her. Now he treated her as his lady, though this was not to be confused with his wife. His wife, the Protector of the Small. What a strong protector she was! She was growing softer everyday. Weaker. By command from the midwife, she was forbidden from tilting. Still, she pattern danced in the morning with the dimness of curtains drawn to hide her. She would do anything to stop being so soft. Anything to distract her. Meditating had lost its lifelong potency. Her last refuge, gone.

At least Keladry had believed meditation to be her last refuge. Other refuges did not fit the mold but nonetheless frightened her when she realized their time to pass had come. The rounder she grew, the less Joren kissed that expanse of skin that was her back, mapping the slope of shoulder blades and the dipping furrow of the spine. The less she pattern danced. The less Einsrell bothered her.

This led to her nearly spending all night at her desk studying the movements of the armies of Tortall in the most recent war, the effects on the common populations according to the Progress' census. Mindless work now, but it would make a difference when she was back in her stride.

Joren dragged his feet as he left the bedroom to join her, bleary-eyed but still handsome. He did not sit, but leaned over her. He did not need to look to see the dark circles under her eyes made from anxiety and frustration. It comforted him to see that he was not the only person afraid to be stuck at Stone Mountain, useless and defenseless. No sword, no shield, no battle. They were equals for certain. Had he been a different person, he might even feel guilty that he had spread his own nightmare to her by insisting on a child. But these things could not be helped. She turned the page. He reached over her shoulder and closed the book.

"It's late. Come conquer me, general."

In the disorienting time between the end of her siege and sleep, he dimly thought she should thank him for letting her make his back bleed that night. He kissed her own and traced all the places on her where his own skin stung, delighting in the involuntary twitches that revealed her shame. But there was no separate shame. Everything funneled like water down the rocky paths of their lives until all was undone and they were drowning in the flood.

-----

And then the time came.

The time came when Keladry stopped her husband's roaming hands completely and rolled away from him for fear of her state. The child was all she had in this dark place she had been asked to call home. Instead of feeling Joren curl around her to keep her warm, as was their routine, she felt the cold against her back, something she was no longer accustomed to. She slept uneasily that night. In the morning, the bed was empty beside her, but the covers had been tucked around her securely, providing the warmth that had probably calmed her sleep at last.

The next night they went to bed and there was nothing else. Keladry lay awake again and wondered if he was doing the same. She dared not roll over to check.

The night after that she glanced over her shoulder with the constant suspicion that he was watching her. But why would he?

Night after night, Keladry wrapped her arms around herself, her protruding belly, and understood how Joren could say the words honor and duty and have such a cynical curl to his lips. It was not this child's fault. It should not have to suffer its parents' sorrow. She knew already that she loved the life growing inside her. Recent troubles had distracted her from even thinking of motherhood properly. She thought she could raise the baby on her own with enough love for two parents.

_Joren will be apart of it. He detests his own upbringing. He would not inflict the same coldness on his own offspring. Would he?_

A week of nothing went by, the end of which found Keladry silently crying in the bath. She blamed her condition, having been warned she might get a touch more sensitive than she usually was.

That evening when she went to bed, she stubbed her toe on the bedpost and cursed loudly. Joren looked at her.

"You alright?"

"Leave me alone!" she snapped. She was immediately angry with herself for reacting so. He had done nothing wrong. In fact, he had done nothing at all. That was the problem.

His gaze bore into the back of her head for a few more moments before he slid into bed from his usual side and cleared his throat. "As you wish."

She rounded on him fiercely. "What is wrong with you?"

"Me?" He coolly smiled. "I'm not the one throwing a tantrum for no reason."

"And I'm not the one fulfilling my needs elsewhere!"

The words spilled out of her as if she were someone else. Her husband looked confused for a moment, then a flush of pink spread across his cheeks as he leaned toward her with a sneer. "I already told you I don't plan on taking any mistresses. It's difficult enough dealing with you. Why would I inflict that torment on myself with someone else?"

"Torment?" she echoed. Her voice was smaller now. "What do you mean by torment? I thought you..." She squirmed uncomfortably. "I thought you enjoyed yourself."

He flung the covers back and got out of bed again. "All I want to do is be left alone. If it's not you, it's this land and this duty, always dragging me back. Weighing me down. I can't stand it! It's not for lack of trying either, but it just doesn't stick."

In the back of her mind, a young man's voice whispered, _I want to die._

"You don't mean that."

"Don't I?" He passed his hand over his face. "And you of all people. Of all people! I tried. I tried, didn't I? Took orders from you, put up with Queenscove, even looked after those damned animals. But it's all more than I want. It's what I never wanted."

Out in the sitting room, she could hear Jump start to growl when he heard their raised voices. By all rights she should sic the dog on her husband. She grew indignant. She gestured down at her belly. "And this is what I wanted? This? I should be on a horse holding a lance. I should be swinging a sword!"

"You have and you will again soon enough," he answered irritably. "Nothing I can do will delay you for that long."

"But it still changes everything!" she exclaimed. "Forever after I'll have someone to worry about that will stay my hand in the midst of battle. As if you weren't enough already!"

"You don't have to worry about me."

"The way you act sometimes, yes. Yes, I do."

There voices had risen and fallen as quickly as waves in a storm. Keladry watched the anger drain from Joren's face as he sat on the bed again and stared at the floor. She realized something very important at that moment.

They had both lost. Whatever battle had always raged between them had no winners. A convenient arrangement had been formed from their self-destructive behavior, but it was nullified now. That truce had been made when they were different people. Whoever they were, they were those people no longer. The anger kept growing like briars and thorns that pricked them when they tried to cut it down. To wake up one day and realize the person in the mirror was a stranger was devastating. But to wake up every day and see the mirror of your tormented self in the person beside you was downright horrifying.

"You don't have to worry about me anymore," Joren said as he stood. He went to the dressing room and exited wearing a robe and slippers.

"Where are you going?"

"Out."

He couldn't be going far. He was not dressed for outdoors. Still, she felt a tug from her chest as if there was a string tied between them, unraveling her as he went.

By the morning, he had not returned. Keladry reached out to his side of the bed. Cold. She wondered if he had gone to a guest room. Though she spent many nights without him lying beside her, the idea of separate living quarters in their own home rankled her. Keladry eased herself out of bed and put on a robe. The maid had probably already come in at dawn to stoke the fire in the sitting room and leave out food for Jump and the sparrows. She would ask them to search him out for her. The alternative was to search him out herself. That would most likely drive him away further.

She wrapped her robe around her and entered the sitting room. The top of a head of blond hair peeked out over the top of the overstuffed armchair that faced away from the bedchamber. Jump was already awake and sitting beside the armchair as if standing guard. At the sight of his mistress, the dog softly woofed.

"What is it? I told you to be quiet," came Joren's gruff voice. The head moved from side to side. He was probably easing the crick out of his neck that came from sleeping sitting up all night long.

Keladry came forward. He heard her and turned.

"Please tell me you didn't sleep here all night."

"I walked the halls for a bit."

"Oh." She wanted to say something else, but what could she say?

He stood up and brushed past her back into their bedroom. She could hear the partition shut for his dressing room. Keladry sat down in the armchair he had vacated and leaned down to scratch Jump behind the ears. The dog put his front paws on the seat and rested his head on her knee. His tongue was rough against the palm of her hand, but friendly.

"Thanks for keeping an eye on him."

Perhaps staying close meant something. He could have went to any of the guest rooms and slept there. Certainly there was no one awake roaming the halls at night to see him flee his own bed and wife. Keladry knew it was silly of her, but she hoped it meant that he did care somehow. And this was not to make her feel better. She genuinely worried about him. To keep going in such a listless, melancholy way was sure to lead to his early grave. He was going to have an heir now. He could die and Stone Mountain's direct line would continue. She shied away from the morbid thought.

Joren entered the sitting room again fully dressed and gave her a cursory glance as he made to leave.

His message was clear. No more.

Some nights he slept beside her, but kept his hands to himself. He turned his back on her and didn't even berate her for fidgeting when it woke him. Other nights for no reason at all he would wander the halls and end up sleeping in the sitting room. He never strayed any further than the armchair when he was ready to shut his eyes. The tension between them had reached its summit. Keladry no longer knew what to say for fear he would leave altogether and make a different bed for himself.

Two months passed like this. They presided over the autumn harvest festivities with silent, stoic countenance and approached midwinter in the same fashion. The one time Joren worked up any emotion at all was when he saw her visit the stables and rub down her horses unattended. Keladry wouldn't give birth until spring, but he treated her as if their child would enter the world any day. He insisted she be accompanied wherever she went. Keladry put up a fight at first, but relented when he was gone a whole fortnight in the sitting room where he had finally procured a cot that he hid during the day.

It was as much a stalemate as could be expected.

Winter continued, indifferent to the mortals that walked the cold earth and hid themselves behind stone and wood. Keladry went to bed one night to discover the bed had been given extra blankets, which had never happened before. The year before, just having another warm body an arms length away was enough. Keladry made sure an extra blanket was put out on Joren's cot for him to use when he returned from his nightly wanderings. Those days he was quite like a ghost. Just like his father.

-----

Winter drew to a close. Coming up on their second wedding anniversary, a month before the midwife predicted the birth, Keladry stumbled and leaned against the wall with one hand, her eyes widening.

No one was with her. Despite Joren's demands, she had been able to bribe her maids to spend their time in the niche out in the hall rather than in her sitting chamber watching Keladry read and balance books, a duty she had taken up on her own to feel useful and giving the clerks a break. Keladry tried to pretend what was going on below her breasts was not happening as she made her way to the front door and jerked it open to call for the maids to come.

One girl came rushing and went to help support Keladry while another dropped her sewing and ran squealing down the hall calling for help. The girl who remained guided Keladry back into the bedroom to lie down. She was a tall sturdy girl who reminded Keladry a bit of herself. The girl should have been a knight. It certainly beat being married and experiencing this horrible pain that suddenly came upon Keladry _mother never warned me of this!_ and made her grit her teeth to bite back a scream.

Within a few moments, Einsrell entered the bedroom with an arm full of freshly laundered cloths, trailed behind by an older matronly woman who held a basin of hot water and some drying cloths tossed over her shoulder as well. The midwife had been asked to take up residence only a week ago. Luckily Einsrell had not waited any longer to put the woman into their family's employment. The woman's apron pockets were bulging with small bottles of herbs and other concoctions that Keladry suspected might be more superstition than medicinal. Her brow started to form beads of sweat.

"Eager to be born, are we?" Einsrell muttered as she eyed Keladry's round belly.

_Not even in the world yet and she's already scolding her grandchild_, Keladry thought. The combination of anxiety and pain and sheer disbelief that this was happening resulted in Keladry laughing. The women in attendance traded glances to communicate their opinions on their lady's growing hysteria. Keladry, feeling the turmoil inside her manifest, could have cared less.  
-----

He was polishing his sword in the armory when a boy ran in calling for him.

"Mylord! It's the lady... she's--"

Joren stood up immediately, setting his things aside and walking in swift strides past the boy. The boy trailed after him nervously. Joren only noticed half-way up the stairs and turned to dismiss him. He was about to speak the word when he noticed a strange shadow at the bottom. He moved the boy aside and rushed to the bottom only to find nothing.

"Was there anyone here?" he asked while still scanning the hallway.

"No, sir."

_I could have sworn_, Joren thought. _Father?_

"Sir? Sir?"

"What?" he snapped.

"Her ladyship...er..."

Joren glared at the boy and jogged back up the stairs. He knew he should be focused on his first and only heir entering the world, but he was distracted by the apparition he thought he had seen just a few moments ago. Thoughts of his father were few and far in between. Burchard usually only came to mind when Joren was faced with some part of his father's legacy, be it the rumor of bastard half-brothers or suspicion from the Crown.

It did not strike Joren as possible that he thought he saw his father's spirit because he was on the verge of fatherhood himself. What was going on that moment in his home had nothing to do with that corpse lying beneath the mountain.

"This is not the time to dawdle!" Einsrell exclaimed from down the hall. Joren looked up to see his mother leaning out the door leading to his apartments.

No, this situation Joren could easily blame on his mother.

He hurried to join her in the sitting room though it didn't make sense to him to do so. After all, he was not allowed in the room while Keladry gave birth. He was being rushed to sit on a couch and wait. It would have been easier on his nerves to look in on her and see that she was alright before going to the practice courts to distract himself.

Einsrell sat beside him and pressed his hand between both hers. She kept her gaze trained on the door. Joren did the same for about all of the span of ten breaths before he glanced at his mother and tried to recognize anything of the smiling woman he thought he remembered from his early childhood. The crows feet around her eyes had deepened, but her eyes were still bright. She would live for decades on will alone.

"So have I done my duty to your liking?" Joren asked.

"We'll see when the baby is come."

He smirked. "If it is a boy, you mean."

"Yes," Einsrell answered. She spared him a glance. "I was so proud when you were born. And not just because you were a boy. You could have been a girl and I would have been just as happy, if a bit pressed to have more children until a boy came along."

Joren grimaced. "You wanted me to be a girl?"

His mother tittered. He never thought he would hear such a sound--genuine, on top of that. Who was this woman? She squeezed his hand. "I didn't care either way. I just wanted you, whatever you were."

"To complete the image of a dutiful lady and mother. To make father think you were a lamb."

She sighed. "Yes. But that did not mean I did not enjoy the thought of having you. Back then before I discovered I was suited to some aspects of motherhood and not others."

"Suited to manipulation but not suited to kindness, perhaps?"

She smiled. This, Joren found familiar. It was like Keladry had described such people once, people whose smiles did not reach their eyes. He thought for a moment before he brought his other hand to rest on top of hers and patted it. Einsrell turned her head away. Her eyes were _not_ watering.

Mother and son kept each other company in silence while Keladry labored in the next room, soon to be a mother herself. He tried to block out the sounds of her stifled cries of pain. She was trying to be strong. If Keladry could lift her mind away from her body like she did sometimes, just closing her eyes and pretending to be some aspect of nature, she would be able to escape her pain. But first births were difficult. At least, hers seemed to be.

Guilt started to gnaw at the bottom of his stomach, climbing upwards through his ribcage and making him slightly nauseous. She should have been astride a horse. Keladry should have been commanding her refugee camp and overseeing the enforcement of the border. Instead, she was here because he had greedily seduced her to suit his needs. Keladry had so dearly wanted to be a good wife, even to him. She wanted to be a good friend, a good knight, a good leader. Even if motherhood was not in her plans before, she would do what it took to be a good mother as well.

All that sacrifice, he thought. All that sacrifice while he had selfishly closed in on himself. Joren rubbed Einsrell's knuckles and thought of the ring missing from his mother's finger there, the ring he had given Keladry by marrying her. Not everything he had done had been selfish. He'd married her against his will, hadn't he?

He imagined her standing before him, fresh and slim as on the day they wed.

_Who will I be if I don't hate you? Hate this life? A stranger to myself. This is not what I expected to be at this age. Who will I be if I'm not... if I don't..._

The vision smirked. Her imagined voice, teasing, made his hair stand on end. _You were going to have this life anyway, whoever you married. You'd hate it and you'd drive yourself deeper into the circle of conservatives that denounce the direction this kingdom is headed. You'd become your father. Whoever you married._

_Yes_, he conceded. _But I'd have been able to ignore her. Not you. I couldn't ignore you if my life depended on it. And that's always been the problem._

_What exactly has been the problem? You are not your father now because of this. And you detested him. What is the problem?_

He had no answer.

"My lord!" the midwife called. She peeked around the bedroom door and beckoned to him with a hand covered in traces of blood.

How much time had gone by? Joren wondered. He looked at the window to see the progress of the sky's color and saw a whole crowd of sparrows, waiting quietly for news on their mistress. When they saw that they had his attention, they peeped a few low notes. They were afraid. And so, he realized, was he.

"Is everything alright?" Einsrell asked. She and her son stood up.

The midwife frowned. "Please, my lord."

The tone in her voice was not panicked, but her exaggerated calmness told him that if the midwife were a different woman, she would be more panicked than he could possibly imagine. He moved her aside and entered his bedroom. Where was she? What had happened?

Keladry was propped up in bed with a girl on either side of her, mopping her pale brow. A blanket had been laid across her lap down to just over her knees. Another woman knelt there whispering soothing words to Keladry. Between his wife's knees were several red and pink-stained cloths. Joren glanced around the room once more. No baby. He went to Keladry's side, shooing the servant girls away.

Keladry's head lolled toward him. He got into bed beside her. His hand slipped behind her head and held it up. He leaned over and whispered in her ear that he was there. Her eyes fluttered.

"What's wrong with her?"

The midwife handed him a cup of water. Joren lifted it to his wife's lips. Keladry worked hard to sip. Some of the water dribbled at the corner of her lips. He wiped it off.

"She's losing a lot of blood. We staunched some of it and, Agnes with her Gift, too, but we cannot do much more until the baby is born. It should be any moment now, but it has been so long and my lady is so tired. You must get her to push when we say. She was asking for you when she had strength to speak."

Joren nodded. The guilt that had been unfurling in his belly spiraled up straight to his throat. His child was in danger. No sense in panicking. He had to remain calm. He could be calm while his wife lay half-conscious with blood pouring out of her as if blood was all she'd been carrying for the last eight and a half months. As if Queenscove could do any better if he were here! _Did I really just think __that?_ Shaking fingers brushed her bangs from her forehead. He placed his free hand on her chin and tilted her face towards him.

"Keladry," he said. "Kel. Woman, open your eyes."

Keladry did not respond the way he liked. Instead, some strangled sound came forth from her lips as her body clenched in a spasm. Joren felt as if someone was punishing him. This is what he wanted, wasn't it? She'd done nothing but caused him misery, so this should have been her punishment, not his. Yet it was his. He cradled her face in his hands and cursed, knowing nothing else he could do. The two midwives at the end of the bed moved Keladry's knees up.

"Push! Have her push!"

Joren licked his dry lips. When he patted her cheek, the moist skin made slapping noises. "Keladry! You stupid woman, open your eyes and push! Your baby is coming!"

Unfocused hazel eyes looked into his face. He could have smiled at her reaction had he not been a nervous wreck. He looked at her sternly.

"Don't you dare tell me after all the miserable time that you spent obsessed about becoming a knight and helping people that you refuse to help yourself." He paused while taking in the recognition that came upon her. She knew who he was, who she was. Joren nodded slowly. "Now, woman, you better push. I can't stand the sight of you lying here like some piece of death. Should I summon the Stormwings already, you useless cow?"

The words completely revived her. She looked like she wanted to murder him, which he had to admit was marginally better than watching his unborn child murder her.

With much screaming and cursing on both their parts, their son was born, a runt sized bundle swaddled in whatever clean cloths were left. Keladry began to hemorrhage but Agnes expertly stopped her bleeding before more damage could be done. Teas were brewed with pinches of things Joren couldn't identify. He was simply in charge of making sure she swallowed it all. He remained at her side, one arm looped around her shoulders while the other helped her hold their infant in her powerless arms. He had no idea why he wasn't a puddle of jelly like her. He'd come close to death before but never had he felt so ungrounded from life as he had when he saw the crimson stains on his bed where once he had asked his wife to cut her thigh.

"He's..." Keladry began hoarsely. She looked at him almost pleadingly.

Joren considered her expression. He finally said, "He's ours."

There was a question in her eyes. But fatigue and blood loss took its toll. Keladry fell asleep. The head midwife took the infant from him while he moved Keladry into a more comfortable position. He thought of how terror had seized him when he heard the midwife tell him of the danger to mother and infant. Threats to himself had never unsettled him before, but this threat to his family made him a different man completely. He was not the one staying home while Keladry marched off to fight. They were both there, weren't they? And they would both ride again and hold their swords aloft. If one fell, so did the other. And he realized as he was pulling her back from the brink that he was not ready to fall. Not yet.

The baby cried, Joren mused, from trauma at being brought into this confusing, aggravating world. He looked up to see Einsrell standing at the door. His mother offered him a small smile. The question that she held in her eyes was this: would he be suited certain aspects of fatherhood? And if so, which?

Joren closed his eyes. Honestly, he didn't see why it had to be a choice. He already knew where he stood. Who would he be if he did not hate her?

_A man with a chance to be h__appy. _

He really had nothing left to argue against.

"And I," he told his sleeping wife, not without a touch of helplessness, "am yours."

Luckily, she wasn't awake to hear him. He preferred to maintain a measure of dignity.

End Part III.

Epilogue coming soon.

:)


	10. Epilogue: Long After the Spring

Disclaimer: Protector of the Small is the property of Tamora Pierce. Please don't sue me. I just got laid off and I have zero money.

Author's note: Happy Valentines Day :)

Epilogue: Long After the Spring

Naturally, Keladry went on to do the great things she was meant to do, things that the bards and minstrels kept in their repertoire along with tales of the Lioness and the Wildmage and the Giantkiller and all the others. But in her older years she would always insist on a story or two about her lord and husband, who had gone on to some notoriety himself when he took over as training master at the king's palace. The great Lord Joren of Stone Mountain was equally heavy-handed with both the boys and girls and had molded some of the most skilled swordsmen of the realm in the years after the Scanran war. Their eldest son hated listening to those stories, being the subject of a few of those training mishaps himself. It hadn't been easy to be the son of the palace training master.

"Grandmother says I look like Grandfather," her son said.

Keladry eased a crick in her neck. Just like Alanna had warned her that first evening of her knighthood, all the aches and pains had started to make themselves known in her middle age. She looked at her son, fifteen years old and as good with a sword as his father had been at that age yet so different.

"I suppose. She can say the same thing for Brenna and Lucio. I was hoping every time one of you would have my hair. I barely got my wish with Brenna's height and Lucio's nose."

"What did father look like when he was my age?"

She shrugged. "Oh, he looked like he was in a constant--"

"State of handsomeness that still has yet to fade?" came a voice behind them.

Keladry turned to see her husband and snorted. "I was going to say 'snit' or that your leggings were in a twist."

A decade and a half had made his chin more firm and his brow more creased, but he retained those solid features that still pressed against the space between her shoulder blades every night. Joren smirked and stood between the two of them, looking out over the courtyard. He put an arm around his wife's sturdy waist and rested his hand on his eldest son's shoulder. "I was proud and unyielding is all I'll say."

"You were a son of a bitch!" his wife protested.

Joren shrugged. "Aren't I still?"

She sighed. Their son thought he heard her mutter yes.

Vincent looked dreamily into the distance. Those eyes, he had gotten from his mother. The name, which used to remind her of Joren's former unsavory friend, he had been given from his grandmother. Apparently, had Einsrell had another son, that was what he would have been named. Keladry wrinkled her nose at the thought. Einsrell still treated her like an underling, but the older woman spoiled her grandchildren rotten.

"I hope to be a hero some day with many animals like you, Mama, and as great a sword as you, Father. And I'll have a great horse and maybe I'll become the next King's Champion or..."

His parents looked at each other uneasily. Keladry smiled gently at her son.

"Of course, it's important to have goals, darling. But don't make yourself any promises that you aren't willing to work really hard for. The world changes quickly enough without any encouragement."

"And sometimes it changes by sheer force of will," Joren remarked.

Keladry chuckled. Husband and wife were partners in their lifelong gathered secrets, precious secrets like the exquisite, smooth rocks at the bottom of the river that flooded so long ago. The beauty in the depths.

The End.

Author: Thank you everyone for all your reviews. This did take a load off my chest and I feel much better about my writing now that I've indulged myself. You can't always pick the stories you want to write. Sometimes they absolutely have to pick you. I'll miss you guys. Take care and keep reading!


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